Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  As the princesses went inside Margat’s keep to enjoy their reunion, I sat with Alun and Godric and the rest of the Little Quintet to explain our route to the north. Godric had reservations about the journey.

  ‘Sire, the Hospitallers only guard the road to the north for about a hundred miles from here; after that, we would be at the mercy of the Muslims. Then we have to cross Anatolia, which is the domain of the Seljuk Turks. None of us has ever been there, and they say the conditions are treacherous – even without the Turks.’

  I could sense the apprehension emanating from all five of them, but tried to convince them.

  ‘The only other way is by boat. But the King has all the vessels in use for the Crusade.’

  ‘But, sire, we could use a small boat and keep close to the shore.’

  ‘Let me think about it.’

  I believed firmly in my preference to travel overland. But my men had a point, and their views were worthy of some thought. For me, the challenge of crossing Anatolia, like the legendary figures of the First Great Crusade, was very appealing. I was in two minds and sought Alun’s advice. As usual, he had wise words for me.

  ‘You should travel the route you want to travel. Our future – both yours and mine – has changed and no longer lies in the Holy Land. It rests in England, and I am content to follow your lead home.’

  My quandary about how to make our way home to England was made starker only an hour or so later, when the two princesses and their father hurried across Margat’s bailey to see me. With his daughters either side of him, Isaac Comnenus, the deposed Emperor of Cyprus, began to plead with me; he spoke not like the haughty lord we had known on his island, but like a distraught father.

  ‘Sir Knight, I believe you are called Ranulf of Lancaster?’

  ‘I am, sire.’

  ‘I beg a noble service of you. My daughters must reach Constantinople. As you know, I am of the Comneni family, a family that has produced Byzantine emperors for the last hundred and fifty years. The princesses have no future as ladies-in-waiting to an English queen; they must go home to their ancestral family. Please take them. These Hospitallers will not venture beyond the Holy Land; you are our only hope.’

  ‘But, sire, safe passage would be by sea. I intend to go overland, across Anatolia.’

  ‘I know they would be safer by sea, but your preference to travel overland gives me an opportunity to help my girls in a way that I didn’t think would be possible. Many years ago, I was the Byzantine Governor of Isauria; my palace was in Tarsus. We were invaded by the Cilicians, who overran the city and imprisoned me in chains for many years. But before I was captured, I hid part of my treasury in a secret chamber in the walls of the Church of St Paul of Tarsus. Now it can serve as my daughters’ dowry. I have told them where the chamber is. If you get them to Tarsus, I will give you one tenth part of the geld. If you then get them and their dowry to Constantinople safely, you will be given another hundred bezants by my family. I will send word to them, you have my oath on that…’

  Looking at me imploringly, he paused.

  ‘Will you do it?’

  ‘My Lord, I need to talk to my men and to Abbot Alun. With only ourselves to be concerned about, we can take our chances. But with two princesses to protect, seven men is a very small entourage. Are you sure it’s not possible to recruit some Hospitallers?’

  ‘I have asked them repeatedly, but they won’t do it. They insist they’re here to protect the Holy Places and the pilgrims; they won’t go beyond the Cilician Gates.’

  I looked at the two princesses who, like their father, were more like little peasant girls lost in a strange place than noble ladies of the court. Anna stretched out her hand and placed it on mine.

  ‘Sir Ranulf, please help us; you are indeed our only hope.’

  ‘I can’t promise anything, ma’am. I will need the agreement of my men; let me talk to them.’

  I called Alun and the Little Quintet together to discuss Isaac’s proposition. When I offered them a share of the geld, Godric had no hesitation.

  ‘If I may say so, sire, crossing Anatolia for the sake of your sense of chivalry was one thing. But for a handful of gold bezants, well, that’s something else altogether.’

  He looked at the others, who all nodded decisively.

  ‘Alun?’

  ‘The risks are considerable. Do the girls know how perilous it will be?’

  ‘I believe they do. But regardless of that, they are desperate to get to Constantinople and to recover their dowry along the way.’

  ‘Do we know how perilous it will be?’

  I smiled at my learned friend. Typically, he had made a telling point. Anatolia was a vast wilderness that had been the graveyard of many travellers who had gone before us, including tens of thousands of crusaders. Even so, I would get my wish; the Cilician Gates beckoned and, beyond them, Constantinople.

  Assuming that the less significant we appeared, the safer we would be, I devised a plan to disguise the importance of the princesses Anna and Theodora and to reduce our value as potential hostages. Alun would lose his insignia as an abbot and become a humble monk, I would hide my knight’s pennon and spurs, and we would all pack away our weapons to become simple Christian artisans journeying home from the fallen city of Jerusalem. Anna and Theodora and their handmaidens would hide their jewellery and fine clothes and dress drably as laundresses to the noble ladies of the court.

  It was a tearful departure from Margat.

  The princesses were distraught to leave their father, who looked like a broken man, shorn of all the trappings of his former glory. Despite his appalling behaviour on Cyprus, he had at least found a way to offer his daughters a route home. He was worthy of some sympathy.

  Our journey north was uneventful for many days, during which we moved at the sedate pace of pilgrims and drew as little attention to ourselves as possible. We avoided villages and made camp only in remote locations well away from other travellers. Having lived a life of luxury, Anna and Theodora found the privations of the journey difficult – especially sleeping amidst a group of men.

  Sleeping separately would have been unwise, as it would have suggested that the women had a higher status than the men. But having them in close proximity was also a problem, as their attractions were all too obvious. As we approached Tarsus, I had no choice but to ensure my men kept any carnal thoughts at bay if we were to retrieve the princesses’ geld from the ancient church of St Paul’s. However, I recognized that I still had yearnings for Anna, feelings that became more difficult to suppress as time went on.

  With the Seljuks in control in southern Anatolia, St Paul’s had been desecrated and was in a state of ruin. Its windows and doors were open to the elements and its only occupants were bats, birds and rodents. Even though the church was deserted, it was close enough to other buildings to mean that we would have to make our sortie in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, our arrival in Tarsus coincided with a full moon, so we had to wait two nights for sufficient clouds to help hide us.

  While Alun and Godric looked after the horses and the princesses’ handmaidens, I posted Leax, Penda, Modig and Rodor to stand guard at the four corners of the church. Anna and I would be in charge of finding the hidden geld. Isaac had given his daughters very simple instructions.

  From the door of the church, take twelve paces along the centre of the nave, then turn left and walk towards the wall. Immediately above you, you will see a roof beam entering the wall. Climb above the beam and find the stone that sits on it, hidden from view below. The mortar around the stone is sandy and not very deep. Use a dagger to hack away the mortar and loosen the stone. The stone is thinner than the others in the wall, and behind it is a space that hides the casket you seek.

  I was unhappy that Anna had not thought to tell me that we would need a ladder to follow the instructions, and told her so sharply.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ranulf… I just didn’t think.’

  I was immediately sorry for having be
en cross. I reminded myself how lonely and afraid she must be.

  ‘I’ll go and get one of the men to help me climb up to the beam, my Lady.’

  ‘There’s no need; I can do it.’

  She held out her hand and raised her foot towards my knee.

  ‘It’s only like getting on a horse.’

  As I lowered myself on to one knee, Anna climbed without any hesitation from my knee to my shoulder and placed her feet on either side of my neck. I then pushed myself up against the wall to give her enough height to grasp the beam and haul herself on to it. She took my seax and our wax lantern and, with her legs straddling the beam in a most unladylike manner, started hacking at the mortar. It took her only a few minutes to loosen the stone, but then she was unable to pull it away from the wall. Fortunately, a solution was to hand – one that meant she had to remove an item of her clothing. Even in these tense circumstances, I found the prospect tantalizing.

  ‘Ma’am, take off the cord around your kirtle; use the seax to push the cord behind the stone and down its sides. When you have the cord in position, you should be able to use it to pull out the stone.’

  ‘How clever of you! I see your mind is as agile as your body.’

  I was enjoying the excitement of my escapade with my Cypriot princess and allowed myself a self-satisfied smile – especially when the stone started to slip along the beam. When it was clear of the wall, Anna raised the lantern and peered into the cavity.

  ‘It’s there! I can see a small wooden casket. Thanks be to God!’

  After she had lowered down the casket, which was heavier than I thought, Anna pushed the stone back into position and handed me the lantern.

  ‘Can you jump, ma’am?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid. Jump towards me; I’ll catch you.’

  As she grimaced with apprehension, I could see her strong cheekbones and the dusky hue of her olive skin in the flickering light of the lantern. Then she jumped, and her kirtle – without the cord, which she had forgotten to put back around her waist – billowed up to reveal her linen loincloth. She emitted a muffled shriek as she landed in my arms. We both giggled in amusement at the involuntary exposure of her legs, emboldened by the excitement of finding the casket.

  When I set her on her feet, the top of her head was tucked under my chin; I could feel her silky black hair and smell its earthy fragrance. She moved closer to me, and I could feel her breasts as she took a breath. I was sorely tempted to put my arms around her and kiss her. But we were in a vulnerable place, and the men were outside – no doubt extremely anxious for us to reappear. I leaned back to break the intimacy of the moment. She smiled warmly and pushed herself up on her toes to kiss me on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you, Ranulf.’

  ‘A pleasure, my Lady.’

  We left the chapel as stealthily as we had arrived. Alun counted the contents of the chest: our windfall was over 300 bezants, an amount to flutter the heart of even a very rich man.

  With smiles on our faces, we rode north towards the Cilician Gates.

  Passage through Palestine had been the least risky part of our journey, as almost all the Muslim warriors were preoccupied with Saladin’s campaign against the Lionheart. But when we reached the gorge of the Cilician Gates, we entered the heart of the domain of the Seljuk Turks. Although Muslims, they were not directly allied with Saladin’s cause. Many of the local warlords made a good living, either ransoming or robbing pilgrims, and had little love for the Christians whose armies, like a plague of locusts, had devastated their countryside many times.

  I decided that we would only travel at night, and rest during the day. Thankfully, we passed through the gorge without even a hint of danger. Then we wound our way upwards, on to the Anatolian plateau, where it would be easier to find a path well away from the usual trade routes.

  On the tenth night out of Tarsus, we reached a heavily wooded area beyond Ereğli, the ancient staging post north of the Cilician Gates. We could see the fires of the city from our high vantage point and decided to make camp among the tall pine trees that filled the atmosphere with their distinct musk. It was the middle of August; the sun had baked our backs all day, and we were exhausted. I decided that, as we were in a remote place with good shade and fresh water, we should rest the horses and ourselves. I also had an ulterior motive: I wanted to find out if my intimate moment with Anna in the church of St Paul, in Tarsus, could be extended into something much more meaningful. I was no longer daunted by her high-born status; I wanted her, and had decided that I would just let events unfold. Whatever followed from then on would be what it would be.

  After we had found a good place to camp, we unpacked our weapons and armour. I organized a four-hour watch, divided between the six of us, before we all sat down together to eat dinner. The humour was light-hearted and we drank a strange but potent local mead that we had bought from a farmer along our route. Everyone’s mood was buoyant, thanks to our boon at Tarsus. The Little Quintet would be able to live well upon their return to England, and Anna and Theodora would be able to attend the imperial court in Constantinople in a manner that was appropriate to their status.

  Only Alun was subdued.

  After dinner, I asked what was troubling him.

  ‘The further away we travel from the Holy Land, the more aware I become of my failure to honour the promise I made to Earl Harold.’

  ‘You did as much as you could, and you have been a major influence on the Lionheart. But he is now well over thirty years of age, and unlikely to change any further.’

  ‘But that’s not the point, Ranulf; I made a promise to be his mentor. In some ways, after what he did at Acre, he needs me even more. Besides which, Earl Harold and I both have a very personal interest in his future and that of England.’

  ‘I remember; you hinted at that when you revealed the truth of your lineage. Isn’t it time for me to hear the full details of Harold’s story?’

  ‘Yes, it is; you’ve been very patient. It is a long story. Let’s spend tomorrow morning by the lake, before it gets too hot, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. After I’ve done that, I think I must go back to the Holy Land.’

  ‘But you can’t go back on your own—’

  ‘I will have to accept the risks. I took the decision to leave, and I will have to live with the consequences of going back.’

  ‘We’ll come back with you. At least let us accompany you into Christian territory.’

  ‘No, you cannot, Ranulf. Your responsibility is to the princesses; you have to get them safely to Constantinople.’

  Alun was right, of course. But I knew he would be in grave danger if he made the journey alone. I watched him walk away. I felt sorry for him – especially as my banishment from the King’s retinue meant that I would no longer be able to help him with the Lionheart’s cause.

  The euphoria of earlier had evaporated, and I decided to walk down to the lake beyond our camp. It was a clear moonlit night and still wonderfully warm. I found a large tree at the edge of the lake, sat at the base of its trunk and looked out over the silvery veneer. Within moments, I was soundly asleep.

  My next sensation was heavenly. I could feel the heat of a body next to mine; it was a naked body, and it was female. Then I heard Anna whispering in my ear.

  ‘I wanted you so much in Tarsus, and I know you wanted me. It was not a good time then, but now it’s perfect. No one will disturb us here.’

  Although I was by then fully aroused and desperate to ravish her, I managed a word of caution.

  ‘Are you sure? I am but a knight, and a disgraced one at that.’

  ‘You are far more than a knight in my eyes.’

  She was so encouraging, and our coupling was prolonged and deeply satisfying. Anna’s body was lissom and powerful; her skin became ever more lustrous through her snakelike exertions, until it was covered in a warm dew.

  We bathed in the lake to cool down before resuming our passions, so
mething we repeated once more before fatigue got the better of us.

  My watch was due to begin at dawn, so I helped Anna put on her kirtle and walked with her back to camp. She embraced me and I was reluctant to let her go before she snuggled down next to her sister. By the time I relieved Modig on watch, I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep – an inexcusable sin.

  At least I could savour what had just transpired and fantasize about the kind of future Anna and I could have together. Perhaps her imperial Comneni family would find me a governorship in a beautiful and peaceful part of the Empire; perhaps I would be offered command of a Byzantine theme, or a senior position in the Varangian Guard.

  Sweet musings melded into real dreams. Within moments, I was fast asleep.

  19. Passion and Purgatory

  I was suddenly woken by anguished female screams, desperate male shouts, the shrill clash of weapons, and a dreadful realization: I had fallen asleep on my watch.

  I jumped to my feet, put on my helmet and drew my sword. As I did so, an arrow cut through the air and hit me just above my left eye. Luckily, it caught the rim of my helmet; even so, it was a powerful blow and I started to lose consciousness. But not before I saw a shadowy shape to my left and felt the searing pain of a blade of steel splitting open my hauberk and cutting into my stomach.

  Then there was nothing; for how long, I know not. When I regained a vague consciousness sometime later, I could hear nothing other than the typical sounds of a hot day in the forests of Anatolia. My head throbbed, I could feel blood on my face and, as I lifted my helmet, I found a very painful gash on my forehead. The arrow had made a dent in the edge of my helmet deep enough to cleave the metal, allowing the tip of the arrow to cut into me. Even so, the helmet had saved my life.

  The wound to my midriff was much worse. The shattered rings of my hauberk were a dark red, as were my leggings down to my knees. I was lying in a pool of blood, but most of it had dried, which I hoped meant I had stopped bleeding. However, I knew that if I started to move, the bleeding would almost certainly start again. Nevertheless, I had no choice; not only was I desperate to find the others, but I was also driven by the terrible thought that whatever their fate might have been, I was responsible.