The Turks turned their mounts and instantly the warriors were galloping away, following their war host down the road. The commander glanced over his shoulder at Murdo and the monk, and cried, 'Muhammadun rasulu 'Llah!' Then he put spurs to his horse and raced after his men.
Murdo watched with mingled relief and amazement as the troop joined the last of the Seljuq host. From the many banners and flags streaming from upraised spears and standards, Murdo guessed the amir himself was passing with his bodyguard. There must have been two hundred or more, each on a white horse with black harness and tack, and each warrior wearing a pointed helm with a white plume, and bearing a round shield with a silver rim. Some of the warriors were leading horses laden with boxes and chests. Murdo stood and watched as rank after rank passed, disappearing at last over a rise further down the road.
When the Seljuqs had gone, he stirred and made to step from the caim. 'Wait,' cautioned Emlyn.
Murdo looked down at the circle scratched in the dirt. Emlyn knelt and put his hands together, spoke a silent prayer, and then put his hand to the circle and rubbed out a portion of the mark, breaking the caim. 'Now we can go.'
They stepped from the broken ring, and it seemed to Murdo as if he were waking from a dream. Emlyn, on the other hand, raised his hands and began a paean of praise for God's wide mercy and saving power. 'We are alive, Murdo!' he cried. 'Rejoice and praise God!'
'You said you would save us,' Murdo agreed, 'and you did.'
'I did nothing but call upon God,' the priest corrected mildly. 'It was Our Lord who delivered us out of the hands of the enemy.'
'What did you tell him?' asked Murdo. 'The Turk battlechief -what did you say to him?'
'La ilaha ilia 'Llah,' repeated the monk. 'It is all the Arabic I know. It means: "there is no God but God alone," and it is the one point on which all Christians and Muhammedans agree. I learned it from the brothers at Aries. You should rejoice in your good fortune, Murdo. It is God's good pleasure that we should yet remain in the land of the living. We were spared! Allelujah!'
Murdo nodded, still trying to comprehend what had happened. Had the charmed circle-the caim-saved them? Or, had the Turks simply had more urgent affairs to pursue? Perhaps the lives of a half-mad monk and a ragged, unarmed youth were not worth taking. Perhaps there was nothing more to it than that.
'We were rescued out of the hands of Death,' Emlyn continued, his face glowing with delight. 'Our Good Shepherd has brought us through the Valley of the Shadow; he has shown favour to us according to his great and generous mercy. Today is a day to rejoice in the Lord and be glad.'
'I am glad,' Murdo insisted, and turned to look for the camel.
They found the lazy animal at rest in the scant shade of the little brush-topped hillock they had been making for when the Turks came upon them. The beast was asleep, motionless, its head upright, eyes closed, its dusty colour blending into the dun-coloured land around it-which is why, Murdo decided, he had not seen it when first he looked.
Murdo took hold of the rein rope, and began yanking at it to rouse the creature. It was then he noticed all the water had been spilled; the clumsy animal had sloshed every last drop from the pots as it swayed and tilted to fold its long legs under its belly.
'There is no more water,' Murdo said, indicating the empty pots as the monk joined him. 'Do you have a charm for that, too?'
Emlyn gave him a disapproving frown. 'O, ye of little faith.'
Murdo made no further comment and, with both of them yelling and tugging on the rope, they succeeded in rousing the reluctant beast. The camel gave out a loud blatter of complaint as it climbed awkwardly onto its legs. Emlyn led the animal to the road, and Murdo walked beside, pausing to retrieve his sword; they continued on-the priest rejoicing in God's saving power, and Murdo in a more reflective mood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they reached the rise over which the Turks had disappeared.
It came into Murdo's mind that now he knew why the road had been so lonely, why they had seen no sign of anyone at any of the farms and settlements they had passed. Most likely, the Seljuq army had been travelling this way for some time, driving the inhabitants into hiding.
Upon arriving at the top of the rise, they paused to look down the other side. In the glare of the setting sun they saw the road falling away in a long, gently rolling descent to the sea which gleamed as a thin silver strip on the horizon. Away to the left, still far off but easily visible as a lighter glimmer amidst the shimmering sea, was the port of Jaffa. They stood for a moment and gazed upon their destination.
'It looks as if they are making for Jaffa, too,' observed Emlyn, pointing down the slope to the white cloud of dust which marked the passage of the Seljuq war host.
'I suppose so,' said Murdo.
'Maybe we should go back to Jerusalem,' the monk suggested helpfully.
'We cannot go back to Jerusalem,' Murdo told him. 'We have no water. Jaffa is closer. We can make it that far at least.'
'But if there is going to be fighting at Jaffa -
'We have no choice,' replied Murdo, moving off.
The sun set and the evening twilight gathered around them. For the first time since leaving Jerusalem, Murdo felt the gnawing ache of hunger in his empty stomach. His mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; he wished he had drunk some more when he had the chance.
The air began to cool as the last glimmer of twilight left the sky and night closed around them. They walked on through the night, until fatigue at last overtook them and they found a place beside the road to rest. They tethered the camel without unloading it, and then settled themselves for the night. Exhausted by the rigours of the day, Murdo took a stone for his head and slipped into a deep dreamless sleep, awaking only to the rumble of distant hooves.
Murdo lay for a moment, listening to the sound seeping up from the ground through the stone on which he rested. The rumbling increased even as he listened, and he knew the riders were not far off. He rose quickly and looked around; the sky was already light. The sun had risen, but could not yet be seen from where they were below the ridge.
Rolling to his knees, he took Emlyn by the shoulder and shook him hard. The sleepy cleric came awake with a start. 'What? What?'
'Horses,' Murdo said. 'We should get out of sight before they see us.' Casting a glance up the long slope, he spied a little rocky outcrop behind which they could hide. Leaving the camel to sleep, they hurried up to the rocks, lay on their stomachs, and waited. It was not long before the first riders came into view. 'Who are they? Can you see?' asked Emlyn.
'No, they are too far away, and the light is not so good.'
Hunkering down behind the rocks, they waited. The jingle of the horses' tack could be heard easily now-a light tinkling sound above the drumming of the hooves. The riders came on at a quick, yet measured pace-not as if they were chasing anyone, nor trying to escape. Murdo raised his head and looked again towards the road. At that moment, the sun broke over the ridgetop, sending its rays down the slope and illuminating a large company of riders.
'Crusaders!' cried Murdo. 'Emlyn look! We are saved!' He leapt to his feet and gave a shout, waving his arms. 'Here! Here!'
But the riders, if they saw him, took not the slightest interest. Not one of them so much as slackened his pace, but the whole company-perhaps a hundred knights in all-continued on towards Jaffa.
'They do not see us,' Emlyn said. 'We must warn them about the Turks! Murdo, hurry! Run and tell them!'
Murdo ran to the road as quickly as the rough ground allowed, and stood waving his arms and yelling for the crusaders to stop. Aside from drawing a passing glance from several of the riders, he received no response. Emlyn joined him and added his voice to that of Murdo's. Perhaps because the pair of them, so far from any habitation, presented such an unlikely prospect, they succeeded only in arresting one of the last of the knights, who reined aside to glare down at them and demand what business they had accosting soldiers in the service of the Defender
of the Holy Sepulchre.
'We are trying to warn you,' Emlyn said quickly. 'We have seen Seljuqs on this road.'
'There are always Turks around,' sniffed the knight. 'Raiding parties. It means nothing.'
'It was more than a raiding party,' maintained the cleric.
'Are you a chief of battle that you know about such things?' demanded the crusader. He pulled on the reins and made to spur his mount away.
'He is telling the truth,' said Murdo. 'There were Turks-hundreds of them – on this road yesterday. We both saw them. They were heading for Jaffa.'
'Did you see them ride into the city?' the soldier challenged.
'No,' said Murdo, pointing back the direction they had come, 'we were on our way from -'
'Worthless beggars,' sneered the knight. 'Be gone with you!' He lashed the reins across his mount's shoulders and the horse lurched away.
'Wait!' called Murdo. 'We need water-a drink only. We have lost our wat -'
'Drink piss!' shouted the knight as he rode to rejoin his companions.
Thirsty and disappointed, they turned their attention to rousing the camel and, after repeated threats to flay it alive, succeeded in getting the belligerent creature onto its great flat feet. They then started off once more, following the crusaders' dust.
They walked along, and Emlyn began saying prayers in Gaelic to occupy himself. Murdo listened, picking out a word here and there which he recognized. Hearing the familiar sounds put him in mind of his mother. He wondered how she would take the news of her husband's death, and her sons' refusal to come home and fight for the return of their land. He wondered how Ragna was faring, and what she was doing, whether she missed him as much as he missed her, and whether they would ever see one another again. He vowed, not for the first time, that if he ever got home, he would never leave her side.
The sun gained strength as it ascended, and the morning warmth gave way to an oven-like fire which baked the arid hills and rocks all around, and caused the lowlands before them to liquefy and run in the heat haze. When they could not stand to walk any longer, they stopped to look for a place to rest and escape the sun. There were no trees nearby; a fair-sized thorn bush not far from where they stood offered the only shade for leagues around.
Leading the camel to the bush, Murdo flicked its forelegs with a stick and the beast knelt down. Next, Murdo stripped off his sweat-soaked siarc and draped it over the bush. He settled in the bone-dry dirt beside Emlyn, and the two of them rested in the combined shade of the siarc, stinking camel, and thorny bush. It was too hot to talk, or think, and they were beginning to feel the loss of their water. Murdo's mouth felt as dry as the stones on which he lay, and his tongue as if it was swollen to twice its size; his lips were cracking, and his eyeballs were cinders in his head.
He closed his burning eyes and rested his head on his arm. In a moment, he heard Emlyn's breath slow and deepen as the monk drifted off to sleep. Though he tried, sleep eluded Murdo; his mind kept returning to the awful moment when he thought the Turks would kill him while he stood there clinging to Emlyn's mantle like a toddling child. He felt again the sharp spear point bite into his throat, and he heard the warrior say, 'Build me a kingdom, brother'.
The voice was so clear and lifelike, he opened his eyes and looked around. There was no one nearby, of course, and Emlyn was still asleep, so he knew he must have imagined it. Though the voice was imagined, the words were those of Saint Andrew, and he had promised to do what he could. Perhaps, he thought, the same lord who honoured the circle in the dirt-the caim of protection-could deliver him safely home.
'Only get me home, and I will build a realm for you,' Murdo said; 'I will build it next to my own.'
His mumbling roused Emlyn who opened his eyes drowsily. 'Did you say something?' he asked, yawning.
'No,' whispered Murdo. 'Go back to sleep.'
The monk yawned again and closed his eyes. 'It looks like smoke,' he said, his voice falling away as he drifted off to sleep again.
Murdo lay for a moment before it occurred to him to wonder what Emlyn had said. Turning his head, he looked in the direction that Emlyn was facing, and saw the hard-baked land, white with dust, beneath a heat-riven sky so bleached it appeared almost grey. A thin thread of darker grey was snaking up through the cloudless heights. Yes, concluded Murdo, it did look like smoke. What could be burning in this God-forsaken place?
He raised his head and looked again. The thread was slightly thicker now, and a little darker, rising out of the west. It was Jaffa!
Rolling to his knees, Murdo looked out, shielding his eyes with his hands. The sun was beginning its long, slow slide into the west, its fierce light all but drowning out the faint smoke trail. He dragged himself to his feet, and climbed to the top of the gulley for a better look – only to find that he had to go all the way back to the road in order to see down to the distant horizon.
One quick look confirmed his suspicion: the smoke was coming from the walled city.
Hurrying back to the thorn bush, he quickly pulled his siarc off the branches and drew it back on. He then knelt and shook Emlyn awake. 'You were right about the smoke,' Murdo told him. 'Jaffa is burning.'
'They must be fighting there,' the monk said.
'Maybe,' Murdo granted. 'It is still too far to see.'
'I hope the ships are not in danger.'
'The ships!' It had not crossed his mind that the ships might be at risk in any conflict. What if the Turks were attacking the port? 'Hurry!'
'Murdo, wait!' Emlyn called after him. He struggled to his feet and started up the side of the gulley, remembered the camel, and paused to untie the rein rope.
Their short rest had far from restored either of them, and here they were, starting out again in the heat of the day. It was madness, thought Murdo; even if he reached the fighting in time, what could he do?
'Murdo, slow down,' called Emlyn, struggling up out of the gulley and onto the road. He held tight to the camel's rope, all but pulling the beast after him.
Ignoring the monk, Murdo charged on, head down to keep the sun out of his eyes. Though more desperately thirsty than ever, he kept his mouth shut, and concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other. How long this continued, he could not say. Time seemed to melt into a stagnant pool; he was no longer aware of its passing. This strange state persisted until he heard Emlyn say, 'Look, Murdo! I can see the harbour.'
Murdo raised his head and was amazed to see how far they had come. The city lay on the shelf of the sea plain below them, its white dwellings shimmering pale gold in the light of a low-sinking sun. The sea stretched out on either hand in a broad band of shining white silver. Smoke rose in a dark column from the city walls in the vicinity of the central gate, where, judging from the darkly writhing stain on the plain outside the city, the battle still raged. But the ships rode at anchor in the bowl-shaped harbour, as yet untouched by the fighting outside the walls.
'Can you see who it is?' asked Emlyn, toiling up beside him. The cleric sank to the road and rested on his haunches in the dust.
'No,' answered Murdo, 'they are still too far away. I suppose it is Godfrey's troops-the ones that passed us earlier. No doubt the Turks were waiting for them.'
With that, he started off again.
'Murdo, for the love of God, man, can you not wait even a moment while I catch my breath?'
'Catch your breath later,' Murdo called back to him. 'We must get down there.'
'Murdo, stop!' cried the monk. 'We can await the outcome here.'
He hastened down the track leading to the city. Behind him he heard Emlyn call out, 'Murdo, if you cherish your life at all, do not go down there!'
He stopped and looked down upon the broad plain. Emlyn was right; there was nothing he could do down there except get himself killed. He returned to where the priest was waiting, took the rope from his hand, and led the camel off to the side of the road where they found another low bush and settled down to watch and wait until the battle
was over.
FORTY-FOUR
From their high vantage they watched as the movement on the plain gradually ceased, whereupon the greater mass separated itself from the lesser, and moved off, skirting the city and disappearing up the coast. Murdo stood slowly. 'It is over. The Turks have gone.'
They then started down the hill track once more. By the time they reached the plain, the battlefield had been invaded for a second time-by a host of people from Jaffa, many of whom were yet streaming out of the city and onto the plain. Murdo and the monk hurried to meet them, proceeding to the edge of the battleground where the first corpses they encountered were those of crusader knights, struck down by Seljuq arrows. There were more horses than men, and several of the animals were still alive, thrashing in agony on the ground as they hurried by.
Closer to the centre of the fighting, the corpses became more numerous. They came upon the body of a knight who had fallen beneath his mount. The horse still lay upon its rider, whose arm extended from beneath the animal's neck, the hand still clutching the sword. Murdo paused and regarded the unfortunate, then looked at the waterskin on the horse's saddle.
'He has no further use for it,' Emlyn said, 'and is past caring in any event.'
Murdo nodded, stooped quickly and untied the strap holding the skin; he removed the stopper and put the skin to his mouth. The water slid over his parched tongue and down his throat in a cool deluge. He drank down great greedy gulps, pulling the waterskin away reluctantly and passing it to Emlyn with a gasp of relief.
They shared the water between them until the skin was empty, whereupon Emlyn replaced it. He made the sign of the cross over the fallen warrior, and offered a death blessing. The water revived them wonderfully well, and they moved on towards the centre of the field where the battle had been most fierce. The dead became more numerous, the parched ground beneath them black with spilled blood. Though they looked, they could see no wounded. Most of the soldiers had suffered both arrow wounds and sword cuts. 'Felled by arrows and finished with the sword,' Murdo observed grimly. 'The enemy showed no mercy.'
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