Raymond's long legs carried him quickly to the inner room he had chosen for the reception of his envoys and intimates. The count had let it be known that, as the lord chosen by the pope himself to lead the crusade, he would not refuse the summons of his peers to govern the Holy City. To this end, he had sent his chief supporter to the various camps to determine the mood of the other lords regarding his speedy accession to the Throne of Jerusalem.
Unfortunately, fever had claimed his most ardent and loyal supporter, Bishop Adhemar; and Counts Hugh of Vermandois and Stephen of Blois had departed the crusade after Antioch, leaving Raymond somewhat deficient in ready companions to champion his cause. Casting his net of favours more widely, he coaxed a reluctant Robert, Count of Flanders, to his side; Robert had quickly become Raymond's closest confidant. Owing to Robert's extraordinary lack of personal ambition, he also enjoyed the trust of the rest of the lords and noblemen. For the last two days he had been flitting from camp to camp, talking to the various leaders, and gaining the measure of each lord's desire for the throne. Having completed his first survey of the field, Robert had returned to report his observations. He now sat slumped in his chair, hands folded over his stomach and legs straight out in front of him, eyes closed.
Count Raymond burst into the room to find his friend asleep, crossed to the table and filled two chalices with wine. Taking them both, he turned and shoved one under Robert's nose. 'This will revive you, sir! Take and drink!'
Robert opened his eyes and accepted the cup. He drank long and deep of the sweet dark wine, and said, 'By the god who made me, Toulouse, it is blistering hot in the camps.' He drank again and held out his cup to be refilled. 'At least the wind is out of the west so it takes away the stink.'
'I have given orders to have the bodies burned at once,' replied Raymond as he filled the cup from the jar. 'But tell me, what have you learned?'
Robert drank again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Ah, that loosens the tongue somewhat.' Glancing at the count, he said, 'Now, to business.' He placed the cup on the board. 'This is the way of it: any direct opposition to your taking the kingship has vanished like the dew in the desert sun. Bohemond will no doubt be content with Antioch-likewise Baldwin with Edessa. Both have as much as they can do to hold on to what they have won so far without taking on Jerusalem, too.'
'Let them try!' sneered Raymond. 'The cowardly dogs did not so much as lift a finger to help us win the city. It will be long and long before those two are welcome within these gates.'
'Just so,' agreed Robert. 'There is great sentiment among the other nobles that neither of them should share in the spoils and plunder, since they did not see fit to complete the pilgrimage. No one would support a bid by either of them to become king.' He raised his cup and took another long swallow before resuming his recital. 'That just leaves Robert of Normandy, and Godfrey of Bouillon.'
'Yes? And what is their disposition?'
'My cousin the duke is making plans to return to Normandy even as we speak,' Robert replied, 'and Godfrey is likewise so inclined; his brother Eustace is not well, and they wish to leave as soon as possible.'
'Then this time next week, God willing, I shall be king,' mused Raymond.
'I did not say that,' Robert cautioned.
'You said there was no opposition,'
'I said there was no direct opposition,' corrected Robert. 'None of the lords will challenge you, that is true. But the clerics among us are saying that the Bishop Arnulf of Rohes should take the city for the pope. They insist Jerusalem should be placed under ecclesiastical rule, and he is considered the leading cleric since the demise of Adhemar.'
Raymond's eyes narrowed. 'The bishop is a good and steady man, it is true,' he allowed, raising his cup to his mouth. 'And his many preachments have been of great encouragement to the men-never more so than before these very walls. But he commands no army of his own; and unless the pope places a body of troops under his command, I do not see how any churchman can hope to protect the city, much less govern it. No, it is preposterous.' He drank quickly, and asked, 'Is there much support for this ill-concocted view in the camps?'
'Some, it must be said,' the Lord of Flanders conceded.
'What of the bishop? Does he say whether he would welcome a move to place him on the throne?'
'Our friend Bishop Arnulf is keeping his thoughts to himself,' Robert replied. 'He says only that it is a vanity to be king in the city where the Holy Saviour himself reigned.'
'Twaddle!'
'Nevertheless, the sentiment enjoys considerable support,' Robert pointed out. 'Godfrey agrees whole-heartedly.'
'It is a nonsense,' Raymond declared. 'A kingdom must have a king. I take nothing away from our Lord Christ by ascending the throne of Jerusalem. Rather, I should in every way improve that throne which has suffered decline among the infidel so long a time.'
'The bishop could, I believe, be persuaded to become Patriarch of Jerusalem,' suggested Robert, 'if he had sufficient cause to believe the interests of the pope would be best served by the king.'
'Perhaps we can find a way to persuade him.' Raymond smiled and took up the wine jar once more. 'You are a good friend to me, Robert.' He poured wine into both cups. 'But tell me now, what will you have out of this?'
'I am content,' Robert answered. 'To see the Holy City returned to Christian rule is enough for me. I have lands of my own to redeem from my tight-fisted brother.'
'But the whole of Jerusalem is ripe for the taking. You must wish something for yourself,' Raymond suggested.
'What should I have wished for but the success of the pilgrimage? May God be praised, I have that already.'
Just then there came a knock at the door and the Abbot of Aguilers appeared. 'Forgive me, lord, but a messenger has arrived from Jaffa to say that Emperor Alexius' envoy is on his way.'
Raymond's expansive mood shrivelled slightly. 'Is he indeed?'
'Even now, lord,' the chaplain confirmed.
'When is he expected?'
'Before nightfall, I am told.'
The Count of Toulouse considered for a moment, then said, 'When he arrives, he is to be met at the gate and conducted here. I would have him stay with me while in Jerusalem. Is that understood?'
'Certainly,' replied the chaplain.
'Good. Then see that rooms are made ready for his use,' Raymond commanded. 'Alert me when he arrives, and I will welcome him myself.'
The chaplain nodded once and withdrew. As soon as the priest had gone, Lord Robert said, 'This is unexpected. Word of our victory cannot have reached Constantinople so swiftly. They must have been waiting nearby to see how the battle went.'
'Yes.' The count's frown deepened and he stared into his cup. 'I will not pretend delight at his coming. Indeed, I heartily wish the issue of succession had been settled before he arrived. That will not happen now, and we must deal with it as best we can.'
Robert drained his cup and stood. 'I am tired. If you have no further use for me, I will go to my tent and rest.'
'By all means, my friend,' Raymond said. 'But stay here and take your rest until the envoy arrives.'
'With all respect, Toulouse,' Lord Robert replied, 'I find that the stench is far less offensive outside the walls. I think I would rest better in my own tent.'
'As you will,' the count granted. 'But do return when the envoy arrives-we will sup together and discover the emperor's intentions for the Holy City.'
'You are most kind, Toulouse,' Robert accepted with a nod of his head. 'I would be honoured, of course.'
The flame-red sun dimmed to a foul yellow glare as it descended over the dry Palestinian hills. Dalassenus paused to drink from his waterskin and gazed upon the Holy City rising before him on its rock of a mountain. The thick black smoke rolling heavenward seemed like living columns holding up a hazy sky. He had been watching the smoke most of the day, and now he could smell it: heavy and oily, it stank of burned fat and meat and hair and bone. At first he feared the city itself was
ablaze, but now that he was upon it, he could see that the fires came from outside the walls, and he knew the source.
'Drungarius?' asked his strategus.
'Yes, Theotokis?' he said, without taking his eyes from the endlessly rolling pillars of smoke.
'You groaned, my lord.'
'Did I?'
'I was wondering if you were feeling well.'
Dalassenus made no reply, but lifted the reins and urged his horse forward once more. A short while later, the imperial envoy and his company of advisors, officials, and Immortals reached the Jaffa road and proceeded directly to the city gate where they were met by Count Raymond of Toulouse's men, who led their party to the citadel where the count was waiting to receive them.
A short while later, the visitors passed through the gates and into the palace precinct where they were welcomed by Raymond himself, and several other nobles-including Duke Robert of Normandy, and Duke Godfrey of Bouillon, who had learned of the envoy's arrival and had come to see the first skirmish of the campaign ahead.
'Pax Vobiscum, drungarius,' said Raymond, stepping forward as the envoy dismounted. The count greeted his guest with open arms, and the two embraced stiffly. 'I trust your journey was uneventful. Now that the road from Jaffa to Jerusalem is in our hands, travellers will find their pains eased considerably.'
'Indeed,' agreed Dalassenus, 'the road was hot and dusty as ever, but it was blessedly free of Turks.'
'Alas, we can do nothing about the heat,' Raymond replied. 'No doubt the emperor has more influence in that domain.' He laughed loudly at his jest, and was joined in his mirth by his nobles, who chuckled politely.
'No doubt,' replied Dalassenus, somewhat awkwardly.
'Come now, you are tired and thirsty. We will allow you to refresh yourselves before supper.' Turning to his servants, Raymond commanded them to lead the envoy and his party to the rooms provided for them.
'It is a thoughtful gesture,' Dalassenus granted, 'but it is unnecessary. My men and I will find lodgings at the Monastery of Saint John. The good brothers provide simple, but adequate, fare and accommodation. We will be more than comfortable there.'
Raymond's face fell. 'That, I fear, will not be possible.'
'No?' Dalassenus regarded the count steadily. 'And why should that be so?'
'Regrettably, the monastery suffered somewhat in the battle.'
Dalassenus' face hardened. 'Are you saying it was destroyed?'
Raymond met the envoy's challenge with a show of pious remorse. 'The monastery escaped destruction,' he explained, 'not so the brothers themselves. They were unfortunately killed.'
This announcement caused a stir among the imperial visitors, who all began talking at once, demanding to know what had happened. Dalassenus silenced them with a word, and then turned once more to the count. 'All of them were killed?'
'Alas, yes – all of them,' admitted Raymond.
'In God's name, why?' demanded Dalassenus, his face darkening with rage. 'They were Christians, man! Priests! Monks!'
Raymond lowered his head and squared his shoulders to the envoy's wrath. He deeply rued the blind zeal of his fellow crusaders which had purged the Holy City of its entire population, but he did not see what could be done about it now. He had little choice but to meet the imperial ire head on. 'We are all aggrieved by the lamentable incident, to be sure.'
'Lamentable incident!' howled Theotokis, struggling forward. 'You slaughter fellow Christians out of hand, and call it a… a lamentable incident? Drawing himself up, he spat at the feet of the Latin lords. 'Barbarians!'
The western nobles, angered at such blatant disrespect, began shouting at the Byzantines. Some few started forth with curses and balled fists.
'Enough!' growled Dalassenus, quickly regaining his composure. To Raymond he said, 'We will make our camp outside the walls. In the name of the Emperor Alexius, I demand that you and the other lords and leaders of the pilgrimage convene in council tomorrow morning when we will discuss this, and other issues arising from the recapture of the city.'
Raymond, eyes hard under lowered brow, met the envoy's anger with flinty obstinance. 'As you will,' he muttered gruffly.
The imperial company withdrew to the Church of the Saint Mary on Mount Zion outside the southern wall, and made their camp within the grounds. Raymond and some of the lords returned to the citadel to drink and discuss the next day's council. Bewildered by the Byzantine response to their offered hospitality, they liberally doused their umbrage with the sweet dark wine of their conquered realm and, as the night wore on, vowed increasingly elaborate revenge on the slight.
For their part, the Greeks spent the night praying with the monks of Saint Mary's church for the souls of their murdered brothers, and for Jerusalem's Christians who had been slaughtered by their supposed liberators. After the prayer vigil, the envoy retired to the cell prepared for him by the monks. Dalassenus slept ill, his spirit troubled by the insidious ignorance and brutishness of the Latin pilgrims; he feared for the day ahead and the demands he must make on behalf of the emperor. The lords of the West had shown themselves truculent and untrustworthy guests, no better than the infidel.
He shuddered inwardly to think what Alexius would do when he learned what had happened at Jerusalem. It would be best for all concerned if the crusaders could be convinced to hand over the Holy City to the rule and governance of the emperor, and as quickly as possible – tomorrow would not be too soon.
Dalassenus had just lapsed into a fitful sleep when he was awakened by the arrival of several monks begging places for the night. It was strange, he thought, for the night was far gone and these were western clerics, but unlike any he had met before. He looked out from the door of his cell and saw them-three robed monks and a fourth, a tall, anxious-looking youth-as they were led across the church's inner yard. The young man started at seeing his face in the doorway, but the four hurried past, and Dalassenus went back to his short and troubled sleep.
THIRTY-SIX
While Raymond was meeting the emperor's envoy at the palace gates, Murdo and the monks were busy binding Lord Ranulf's treasure into corpse-like bundles. Using the rags Fionn had secured, they bound the various items of gold and silver together and stuffed the spaces between them with dried grass and straw-as much to keep the metal objects from clanking together as to fill out a roughly human shape which they then wrapped in a burial shroud.
They worked quickly, gathering and binding, wrapping and tying. At Fionn's urging, Murdo reluctantly withdrew six gold coins from the heap. 'You are not stealing it, Murdo,' the monk chided, 'merely using some of the first fruits to help save the harvest.'
As soon as the last knot was tied, they dragged the bundles from the tent lest anyone become suspicious of their activity. Lastly, Murdo retrieved his father's sword, shield, and hauberk before abandoning the tent to the use of some other wounded soldier. The three of them settled under a nearby olive tree to await Ronan's return.
'What can be keeping him?' wondered Murdo. He cast an anxious eye over the ungainly bundles, of which there were four-three large, which might pass for adults, and one somewhat smaller, which might be seen as a child. Throughout the camp, the monks and women went about their chores, tending to the wounded and dying. No one seemed to notice the little company waiting for the burial cart; Murdo, fearing they might be discovered at any moment, remained ever alert and watchful.
The baleful sun crossed the sky vault to extinguish itself in a blood-red haze, and still Ronan did not appear. 'I suspect camels are more difficult to obtain than horses or donkeys,' Fionn suggested. 'Ronan macDiarmuid will not fail us. Have faith, Murdo.'
'God is ever moving amidst the chaos,' Emlyn added grandly, 'his subtle purposes to perform. Trust not in the works of men, but in the Almighty whose designs are eternal, and whose deeds outlast the ages.'
Despite repeated entreaties from the two priests to calm himself, Murdo could not rest. Even after dark, he found no peace-for, though he was grateful for re
lief from the heat, the rising moon shed more than enough light for thieves to work. He looked at the night-dark sky. The stars, veiled by a high-blown haze of smoke, glowed like the eyes of skulking hounds caught by torchlight in the dark.
He drew a hand across his face and tried to wipe away the fatigue. He was hungry and tired, and sore, and the first seeds of sorrow were beginning to take root. Murdo did not mind the hunger, nor his scorched skin, nor his hurting feet; those were small pains compared to the sharp, gnawing ache growing in his heart. He missed his father, and he missed his home; he wanted to see the low green islands of Orkney, and feel the cool northern wind on his face again; he wanted to see Ragna, to hold her, and he wanted this miserable day to end.
Fionn nudged him gently. 'Someone is coming,' he whispered.
Murdo sat up. 'Where?'
'Down there.' Fionn pointed to the trail which wound through the valley below. He could see a grey shape moving on the tree-shadowed path, but it was still too far away to see clearly. Closer, the shape resolved itself into two parts, one large, one small. The large shape had long legs and a steeply-humped back; the smaller, walking beside it, was a man.
'It is Ronan,' Fionn confirmed. 'I told you he would not fail us.' Standing up quickly, he said, 'He will not know where to find us. I will bring him.'
Murdo watched as the monk hurried down the tree-covered hill, his pale form flitting in and out of the moonlight. Upon reaching the trail, he saw Fionn approach the elder priest, whereupon they both turned and proceeded towards them. The camel appeared to grow larger with every step; in fact, it was a far bigger animal than Murdo had realized. And it stank of rancid dung.
Indeed, it was one of the most repulsive creatures Murdo had ever seen. The beast was covered with a thick pelt of matted, mangy hair that hung in ragged clumps; bulging eyes gazed lazily out from a small, flat head perched atop a long, ungainly neck; huge flat feet splayed out from bony, scabrous legs, and its great hump sat like a shabby mountain above its distended belly. The thing shuffled when it walked, and folded itself awkwardly when it lay down-which it did as soon as Ronan stopped tugging on its rein rope.
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