Roul and Sybille were with Guillemette and Jeanne already when the men moved forward. The darker one pulled a knife and was about to dart in to grab Sybille when Gidie’s staff cracked on his forearm. He dropped his knife with a thin cry of pain. His blond friend heard him and whipped out his sword, but when he turned to defend himself, Gidie was already holding his weapon quarterstaff, his left hand halfway along the shaft, his right at the butt, and he crouched with the point near the man’s throat.
‘What are you doing?’ the man demanded, his sword-point up in defence.
‘You were following this lady. She’s a friend of ours, and we want her safe and unmolested. You will leave her alone,’ Gidie said.
‘And you’ll stop us, will you, old man?’ the fellow said, and suddenly lunged at Gidie.
The point of his blade moved forward, but before the man could threaten the old tranter, Gidie snapped his staff left, smashing the man’s forearm, then whipped it right, across his jaw. He pulled his staff back, and then thrust hard into the man’s belly. He collapsed with a loud gasp, and as he fell Roul stepped on his sword. His comrade had picked up his knife in his left hand, and as Gidie shifted his grip on his staff, he stepped forward to stab. Before he could, Gidie had grasped his staff halfstaff, and jabbed the butt-end into his face. There was a crack as the iron-shod tip opened a wound from the bridge of his nose clear along his cheek. He was jerked backwards, and as he did so Guillemette brought a griddle down on his head with full force. He fell like an axed tree.
Gidie walked to the still-conscious blond man and leaned over him. ‘You try anything with these ladies, boy, and I’ll feed your liver to the crows. If you are seen near her again, you will die. The Hermit dislikes men who succumb to their natural desires on a pilgrimage. Now take this other piece of shit and fuck off!’
CHAPTER 24
Nicaea, Saturday 20th September, 1096
‘There it is!’ Sir Roger breathed.
It was not a huge town, but it was a daunting sight. They had ridden south and west from Nicomedia, until they found themselves alongside a vast area of water, which Odo realised now was probably a lake rather than a sea, and turned east and south. Now they were confronted with the first town they had encountered. It had a wall about it in the Byzantine style, but the pilgrims all knew that this entire territory had been taken by the heretics some years ago.
Odo watched, feeling his excitement mount, while Sir Roger and other knights discussed the attack to come. This was to be a war of destruction. The Pope himself had enjoined the pilgrims to go and drive out the ‘heinous’ people who had stolen the land from Jesus’s own. Now the Christians proposed to do so.
They rode in from the north, keeping their approach as quiet as they could, and came across a scene of pastoral peacefulness. At the front near the water, Odo could see women in the waters of the lake washing clothes, and a raucous market was in full swing over towards the town’s walls, with men bellowing their wares, women laughing and singing, and children shrieking. Many were running along a small wooden jetty and leaping or plunging into the water of the lake. Others had a mud-slide on the lakeside, and slid down to squeals of delight. Some men were walking about the town with slaves or servants behind them.
Odo took in all this at a glance, and then his blood surged to hear the trumpets blow, and the flags were raised, and suddenly they were all riding at the canter, and men were whooping and howling, and the horses sped along at the gallop, and Odo had to crouch low over his mount’s neck. He dared not draw his sword; his entire attention was focused on remaining in the saddle as his horse thundered along with the others.
In his ears the wind was deafening, but he could still hear the screams of terror as the little army plunged into the middle of the crowds. He felt his own horse stumble as it blundered into a woman, and he saw her lying shocked on the ground, her face eradicated forever as a hoof stamped on it. Then his own horse was stopped by the press, and he saw Sir Roger and Gilles pushing on forwards, their swords rising and falling; and with each blow, another person fell.
The women in the market were crazed with terror, but he felt no pity. These were heretics. They deserved no sympathy, no compassion. He pulled his own sword free of the scabbard. There was no joy in it, but as others continued to cut and hack, so he too began to strike at the people. He slashed at a man and saw the thin line of red suddenly explode into a hideous wound; a woman ran past, and he aimed a strike at her head. It cut through her coif and swept down into her skull. She fell instantly like a puppet whose strings are cut. A child, a girl with long hair, was spattered with blood from his blow and when he had wrested his blade free, it seemed to stab her breast almost without effort on his part.
He had a thick, pulsing lump in his throat, and a roaring in his ears as he felt his arm moving. He saw, as if in a dream, how his blade flicked right and took a man’s throat, then up and down to brain another. He felt all his emotion deadened. He had no feelings for these people. They were deniers of God. How could a Christian man feel anything for them, any more than for cattle slaughtered for food? He rode on through the crush, moving with the men in Sir Roger’s company, watching as Gilles dropped from his horse, took up a spiked war-hammer and began to use it on the people at their feet, ensuring that they were dead.
Odo sat and watched. His ears still had that deafening roar in them as he looked about at the bodies. Farther away, there was a fire burning, and he saw a Bavarian knight who had spitted a baby on his lance trying to remove it, while others threw children onto the flames and laughed to see their agonies. He saw women being chased and raped by entire groups of men, and other men forcing victims to kneel, then trying to remove their heads with their swords, laughing at their failed attempts at butchery. All about him there was the pitiable sound of men, women and children being tortured or dying.
His horse was cooling after the heat of the battle, and now it sidestepped and pranced, revolted by the metallic stench of blood which ran in thick rivulets, the reek rising to the heavens. Odo took the reins and persuaded it to move away from the main market. He had no idea how much time he had spent there; it felt like half the morning, but it could only be minutes, surely. Yet hundreds had died here.
He told himself: God gave us the victory! Dieu le veut!
And then he saw the figures: a woman and a child, one wearing a crucifix, the other bearing a rosary. They were Christian.
Civitot
Fulk felt lonely without Odo. It was as if his brother had become a stranger to him. His religious fervour had grown every day during their march, and Fulk was alarmed. He did not like this new brother, who went to find dying warriors and cut their throats like a butcher in a slaughterhouse, or who was grown so entirely careless towards the feelings of others. Odo was not the same man with whom Fulk had grown. He was unrecognisable.
Walking mournfully back to his own little pavilion, Fulk saw a familiar face.
‘I hope God comforts you?’ he said.
‘He has not sought to punish me yet,’ Guillemette said.
She was carrying a large bucket, from which the water slopped with every step. Fulk took it from her, and joined her walking back to her camp.
‘I am grateful to have seen you,’ Guillemette said. She gave him a very direct look. ‘But that does not mean I will pay you in our agreed manner. We are too close to the Holy Land here. I can feel God watching and judging.’
‘I’m not seeking it. Consider this a last gift to you.’
She looked at him with a suspicious tilt to her head. ‘What does that mean? Have you suddenly decided to stop whoring?’
‘I . . .’ He reddened. This was not how he had anticipated the conversation.
‘Ah!’ Guillemette said. She felt a sudden shock, as if the breath had been stopped in her breast. No matter what she had said about God watching, she had felt Fulk was an admirer who could be counted on. She fitted a teasing grin to her face to cover her discomfort. ‘So you have found anothe
r woman, then. And about time. Who is it? Can it be anyone I know?’
Fulk walked on a short way in silence. ‘It is Sybille.’
Guillemette’s face froze. ‘You know what you are saying? She has only recently been widowed.’
‘I know that,’ Fulk said. He looked at her. ‘I am sorry, Guillemette. If I could guide my heart, I would have fixed it on you alone. I know that you are—’
‘I need no man’s sympathy,’ Guillemette said, but then she softened her tone with a smile. ‘I am grateful for your help and food in the last few weeks, but I am content with my place in the world. I may find a man when we get to Jerusalem, if I am fortunate, and if God wills it, but otherwise I will continue with Jeanne. But it was not for me that I was concerned. You must be cautious if you are keen to win Sybille. She is still in mourning for her man.’
‘So, what should I do?’
‘You must give her time. Time to get to know you better, time to heal from the death of her husband. Benet was a weakly, foolish man, but she knew him in better times, when he was less of a fool. Perhaps he was a good man before he took up the cross? She must have had good times.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She weeps often enough. She remembers him fondly, as a woman should. Benet gave her the little girl, as well as all else. You must give her time to come to terms with her loss.’
‘I shall.’
She saw his small, sad smile and put her hand on his forearm. ‘You are a good man, Fulk. You’re too keen on women, but with hope you will soon find that you love Sybille, and can win her love in return.’
Nicaea
Odo’s joy and confidence did not last.
When they left the town, he was glad to be away. The horror of the error would not leave him, even as he rode from the town.
Gilles saw his mood as they left, the smoke from the fires they had set rising high into the sky and hanging like a pall over the town in the still air. He left Sir Roger and joined Odo. ‘Was that your first battle? You fought well.’
‘All those people,’ Odo said.
‘They were unfortunate. We won.’
Odo was shivering. His belly roiled, the acid burning his throat as he tried to keep the bile at bay. ‘Yes, we won, but—’
‘Of course we did! God wills the capture of His lands and the slaughter or eviction of the heretics who have taken it. What else could God want?’
‘Dieu le veut,’ Odo said. ‘Yet they weren’t.’
‘Weren’t what?’
Odo faced him. ‘They weren’t heretics! We killed Christians today! I saw crucifixes on two bodies there! Those people we slew were no more heretic than you or I!’
‘Then we have helped them on their path to Heaven.’
‘But we killed the very people we should be helping!’
Gilles looked at him steadily. ‘What we did was leave a message to the heretics who live here. It says, “If you remain here, we will slaughter every last one of you.” It says, “We are here to take back what is God’s.” What else could we do, try to work out which was a Saracen or Christian? It would be impossible. We have to kill some of our own if we are to clear this land of the pestilence of the heretics. And then, if we have killed some Christians, we can pray for their souls and beg God to take them to his heart.’
Odo nodded. He wanted to be convinced. After all, he was expecting to kill many people on this journey. Perhaps it was impossible to tell who came from which religion. Certainly in the market square at Nicaea, it was impossible to see what faith a person had. Perhaps when they had returned to Civitot he could find a chapel and pray for those he had killed, if they were Christian.
More, he wanted to see his brother. Perhaps he should feel guilty at that. He wanted to get back just to see Fulk. He wanted someone to talk to about this horror, someone who would sympathise.
But more, he realised, he wanted to see Jeanne. She would soothe his soul.
CHAPTER 25
Civitot, Wednesday 24th September, 1096
Their return to the port was clamorous, with pilgrims and local Greeks demanding to take a look at the plunder from Nicaea. Odo was jostled and pushed as he walked his horse into the middle of the camp. He was keen still to find a chapel in which to pray for the Christians he had killed, but the main thought in his mind as he shoved his way through the press was that he wanted to find Fulk. He needed to know that his brother was safe. The sight of all the men lying dead in the streets about the market at Nicaea had brought home to him how hazardous was their journey.
Once he had left his horse with Sir Walter’s grooms, he hurried to the camp to where Fulk and he had shared a space with Peter of Auxerre.
‘Peter, it is good to see you again,’ he said when he saw his friend.
‘You look like a man who has managed to get some experience of fighting in a short time,’ Peter said, looking him up and down.
His measuring gaze gave Odo a sense of pride. He was now surely a real warrior for God, he thought. ‘Where is my brother?’
Peter smiled. ‘He’s with his wench again.’
Odo frowned at that. ‘He’s back with the whores?’ He did not want to think that his brother had ignored all his words. If he was womanising once more, he would be threatening the entire pilgrimage. Odo could feel a hot, angry disbelief rising.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not the whores,’ Peter said, seeing his expression.
‘He has grown serious about a woman, you think?’ Odo said. ‘If you believe that, you will be disappointed. He is only ever interested in the easier women, those who are more available.’
‘I don’t think so. He’s trying to help others,’ Peter said, disapproval at Odo’s assumption lending sourness to his voice.
Taking directions from Peter, Odo made his way along the camp until he reached the edge where he had been told that Fulk could be found. There, he stood and glowered around, trying to see his brother. At last he caught sight of the familiar figure ambling along carrying a skin of water. At his side was a woman, but it was not Guillemette, Odo realised. She was small and held herself like a lady, with a decorous manner, not laughing or giggling like so many silly women would nowadays, and was clad in sober black cloth to indicate widowhood, but she was walking too close to his brother, that much was clear to him. Others did not appear to notice, or at least paid them no heed, but he could see that she was within arm’s reach of Fulk, and such flagrant behaviour was not becoming.
‘Fulk!’ he called, and his heart was lifted to see how his brother’s face lifted to see him.
‘Odo, you’re back! How was it?’
It was good to see how Fulk’s eyes flew over him as though seeking proof of his freedom from injury.
Odo smiled. ‘I’m fine! We took a deal of plunder, and we’re selling it now. It was remarkably easy. The Saracens will think again before trying to stand in the way of God’s pilgrims!’
The woman’s face had paled as he spoke, and Odo was fleetingly irritated, because any Christian woman should have registered pride to hear about the glorious attack by the army of God, but then he reflected that it was impossible to know what went on in a woman’s brain. Besides, whether she knew it or not, she was correct: they had mostly killed Christians. He turned his attention back to Fulk.
‘I’m glad you got back safely,’ Fulk said. There was a smile on his face, although it had faded a little. ‘We hope that there are soon to be more armies here. There is talk of a great army from France that is about to arrive.’
‘We shall ride out again soon,’ Odo said, unyieldingly. ‘The whole of this land is wide open for us. It would be an act of huge folly to rest on our laurels after one easy victory. We need all the men we can gather to begin the great reconquest.’
‘Soon we shall have all the men you could wish for,’ Fulk said.
‘We already do! We must hurry. The Holy City is waiting for us, Fulk. The people of the city are suffering under the Saracen yoke.’
�
�Odo, I don’t think that waiting a few weeks will make such a huge difference.’
‘Do you mean you refuse to join us? That would be to foreswear your oath, man! God would never forgive you!’
‘I am not foresworn! But others with more strategic experience than me say we should wait until the rest of the army is here so that we can mount our most effective effort. It makes sense. I hear Sir Walter himself prefers to wait for additional forces. Otherwise, if we throw our men in small packets, they will be cut to pieces with ease. We need an army, not small raiding companies.’
Odo narrowed his eyes. ‘We need to maintain the initiative, brother, and show these heretics that they cannot stand in the path of the one true God!’
‘They will learn that soon enough, when we have our strength mustered, Odo; can’t you see that? If we throw away our men in small combats, we will lose the war.’
‘What do you know of war?’
Fulk met his glare with a degree of defiance. ‘While I have been here, I have been talking to as many of the seasoned warriors as I can find, Odo. I have learned much about fighting.’
‘You would learn more about fighting by going and joining in a battle, brother!’
‘Perhaps I would learn how to handle a sword, but I think it is as best to understand how to command a battle as well.’
‘It’s not just a way to evade the danger of the fight, then?’ Odo said. There was a sneer in his tone.
Fulk’s face changed. His cheeks became pale, and his head thrust forward. ‘You think me a coward?’
‘You don’t like to kill, do you, brother? You did nothing to help when we fought the various battles. You were always happier with the company of women – of any grade – weren’t you?’ he added.
‘Are you commenting on this lady’s honour, Odo?’ Fulk said, his voice low and angry.
Odo looked at him. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he was angry. This woman appeared respectable enough, but Fulk’s history spoke loudly. ‘You know more about her than me, brother.’ He could not help adding, ‘Just as you have known other sluts along the way.’
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