She shook her head and the scene fled from her mind. Frowning now, she dabbed at Sybille’s brow with perhaps more force than was necessary. After all, Sybille was to blame for much of Guillemette’s current distraction and distress. It was frustrating to know that the man for whom she had developed more affection than any other was so infatuated with this widow, who showed him little if any regard.
Men were fools at the best of times, she considered. But still her thoughts would turn to him.
Xerigordos
Lothar stumbled with the men to the staircase, and from there made their way to a storeroom beside the main tower, where there was an undercroft. Sir Roger opened the door and led the way inside. Outside all was mayhem as the pilgrims fought to escape the heat of the burning gates, but in here the air was cool and refreshing. A man could almost imagine he was no longer thirsty. Odo felt the wall and was certain there was a faint moisture there. He longed to suck at it, and had closed his eyes and begun to press his lips to the rock when he was startled by a shaft of light. There was a rumble of tumbling stone, and when he opened his eyes, through the mortar dust and dancing motes he saw that there was a hole, through which he could see a portion of the sky.
‘Listen!’ Sir Roger said. He eyed Odo doubtfully, licking his dry lips. ‘We can escape, if we are lucky. This hole is at the foot of the northern wall where the curtain meets the old keep. It was not built as strongly as a castle at home and where the two meet, the curtain butts against the keep’s wall, without being fixed into it. We’ve pulled out some of the rocks to give an escape. We can flee from here. We will run the gauntlet of all the Saracens in the area, but they will not expect to see us. I am willing to guess that they will all be at the front of the castle, ready to capture and slay all the men within. As soon as we hear the noise of their attack and the beginning of the slaughter, we must run. We have to find horses, and we need water, so we shall run for the horse lines. It is not far. We shall ride from there and make our way to the camp at Civitot. But when we run from here, be under no illusions. If we are caught, we shall die. Is there any noise yet, Guarin?’
Guarin, who was nearest the hole, shook his head. ‘It is all quiet out here,’ he said.
They stood and listened. The noise from the courtyard was all of men shouting to build up their confidence for the battle to come, while from outside the gates they could hear trumpets and the sounds of jeering as the Saracens built their own courage. Then there was a rumble, like a distant roll of thunder, and Lothar said quietly, ‘That will be the gate. The timbers are falling, and perhaps the gatehouse above it too.’
There came shrieks and the low, growling bellows of the pilgrims, and Odo felt his scalp moving as though there were a hundred lice beneath his skin, all marching as one. It was a hideous feeling. All at once he felt dizzy, light-headed and slightly sick. He saw the bright patch of light darken, and he saw Guarin’s legs as he climbed out. Gilles followed him, then Eudes and Lothar, before Sir Roger slipped out and hissed to Odo to hurry.
He shoved his head through the gap, staring all about. Sir Roger was fleeing across the narrow plain after the others, who were already crouched in the shadow of rocks. Odo wriggled himself out of the hole and stood, jolting forward uncomfortably on legs weak from lack of drink and exercise. All the while he could hear the screams of the pilgrims as the Saracens loosed arrows through the open gates.
Lothar and Gilles were not with the others when Odo reached them. A short cry could be heard, but it was nothing compared with the gleeful shouting that emanated from before the castle. Then Lothar returned, crouching low. ‘There are some soldiers, but very few.’ He had found a skin of water with the sentinels, and he passed it to Sir Roger. ‘Drink, all of you. We can take horses and ride when your thirst is slaked.’
The water in the skin could have been bear’s piss for all they cared. It wouldn’t have mattered. It would still have tasted as fresh as a mountain stream, and Odo let the wonderful liquid into his mouth and down his throat. Swallowing was joyous. He felt as though this drink had come to him straight from Heaven. It brought life, energy and renewal. He could feel the strength returning to his legs, and as the strength came, so too did the ability to think. The muzziness left him, the sense that the earth was reeling beneath his feet dissipated. It felt as though he was returning to the world from a dark, grim tunnel of deprivation into the light of a summer’s day. He was more aware of the world about him, of the men, and of the joy of escape.
At the horse lines they found two boys with their throats cut. These two were the sentries Gilles and Lothar had killed before bridling the horses. The men mounted beasts which felt fresh and eager as newly broken colts. Sir Roger made no signal, but as soon as he saw all the men were ready, he turned his face to the north. They avoided roads, making their way up a steep hill that lay beyond the castle; when they were almost at the top, Odo turned and stared back.
From here he could see over the walls and across to the gate. The timbers had collapsed, and the fires formed a hellish maw, through which arrows were exchanged. Already inside the courtyard he could see a number of bodies. A storming party had been formed, and now Odo saw them plunge through the flames. They would soon be slaughtered out in the space before the gates. Even as he watched, a party hurtled through the burning gateway and into the court, and there began to lay about them with sword and spear. Captives were being led out to the space before the castle and made to kneel.
Odo had seen enough. He kicked his beast and rode off after the others.
As night fell they made camp in an open space between some hills. There were some scrubby trees, and they made a fire from broken branches against the chill.
Odo was collecting firewood, and when he began to make his way back to their campsite, he saw that Sir Roger was distraught. The man had aged during their time under siege in Xerigordos, and he was withdrawn, like a man contemplating his own execution. When the men began to settle, Sir Roger sat apart, staring into the flames.
‘He looks like a man who has learned his lord has died. Is he ailing?’ Odo said to Gilles.
‘He’s learning the challenge of leadership: how to live with the death of your comrades,’ Gilles said. He looked at his charge. ‘I was sent here with men enough to protect him in a battle, men to guard him and serve him, but he has seen them die on the journey here, and now he is struck by the cost of his adventure. He didn’t expect to see his men slain about him. It is a strange thing,’ Gilles said meditatively, ‘that a man can decide to go to war, assuming that he will deal death and destruction on all sides, and not consider that the enemy might have weapons and strong arms to wield them. Perhaps men would be more reluctant to go and fight if they realised that simple truth.’
‘But he must realise that his men have gone to Heaven. It was promised by the Pope.’
‘Yes, the Pope promised it. Yet Sir Roger has the guilt of bringing men to their deaths. Whether or not the Pope has promised them Heaven, Sir Roger has seen them die.’
Odo looked over at the young knight. Sir Roger’s eyes glistened in the light from the flames as he stared, unseeing. He looked like a man who had given up, who had decided to submit to Fate and accept whatever might be hurled at him.
This was the man who should be leading them. Odo could not allow him to surrender to his misery. He walked to the knight’s side. Sir Roger looked up briefly and smiled, but it did not touch his eyes.
‘We should be back soon, Sir Roger,’ Odo said. ‘We must ensure that the men of the pilgrimage rouse themselves and prepare.’
‘Prepare? Did you not see the army? It was vast, Odo. Vast. How could we hope to defeat so magnificent a—’
‘We have no need of hope. God is on our side.’
‘Yes. God is with us. But why then did he allow so many to die? You know, when I close my eyes all I can see are the men who were trapped with us at Xerigordos. They are all dead now.’
‘What of them?’ Odo said, and injected a l
ittle sharpness into his voice. ‘They are gone, but today they dine with Christ in Heaven. Would you see their efforts and their sacrifice wasted?’
‘Who are you to speak to me of their sacrifice?’ Sir Roger snapped. ‘They came here with me, and I led them to their deaths.’
‘And God requires you to avenge them.’
‘You know this?’
Odo stared at him unblinkingly. ‘God speaks through me. I have been chosen by Him. And I choose you to help Him in His cause, to rid the Holy Land of heretics. Would you deny Him?’
‘You say He has chosen you?’ Sir Roger said doubtfully.
‘Look at me! I am here because God chose me. If I lie, let Him strike me down here, where I stand! I swear it on my mother’s soul; I swear it by the Gospels. I am His servant and I will bring about the conquest of the Holy Land in His name! Now, kneel and pray with me. Through God’s grace, we will prevail!’
CHAPTER 30
Civitot, Tuesday 14th October, 1096
Alwyn was at the pavilion with Sir Walter when the news spread through the camp. It ran from man to man like a hissing, spitting wildfire in a forest, while behind it was left only a silent horror, and he saw men turning towards the pavilion with mingled hope and fear.
Sir Walter heard the noise too, and he and Alwyn walked to the pavilion’s open doorflap. There they saw an astonishing sight: a straggling party was making its way towards them. In recent days Fulk was often at the pavilion, for Sir Walter valued his judgement, and now Alwyn heard him give a gasp of joy. At the front were three men: Odo, Sir Roger and Lothar. Alwyn felt none of the same joy at seeing them. He stepped away from the Normans, feeling that familiar churning in his belly, the same hatred and loathing that chewed at his stomach like a rat. If he could, he would kill them, but that would leave Sara and Jibril to fend for themselves. He could not do that to them.
‘Odo, my brother!’ Fulk pushed past Alwyn, his face radiating delight at seeing Odo again. ‘I had thought you—’
‘Wait!’ Odo said. He spoke as one who demands authority and respect. Fulk’s face fell to be so peremptorily dismissed. Turning to Sir Walter, Odo said, ‘My lord, I carry news of terrible importance. All the men who rode with us have been slaughtered or enslaved by the Saracens after they besieged the castle we had captured.’ He went on to explain all about their battle and the eventual annihilation of the Christians. ‘We are all who survived.’
‘How did you escape?’
This was a short, ginger-bearded man-at-arms who stood at the side of Sir Walter. Alwyn recognised him as Godfrey Burel, the commander of a group of Hungarian foot soldiers, but just now it was his tone of voice that caught his attention. It contained no jeering, but he sounded suspicious.
Odo appeared not to notice his tone. ‘It was fortunate that we found an escape at the rear of the castle.’
‘Although an entire Saracen army surrounded the place?’
Sir Roger’s face darkened, and he made to step forward, but Odo placed a restraining hand on his forearm. It made Sir Roger grit his teeth, but Odo’s intention was clearly to prevent a fight here between Christians, and Sir Roger subsided, averting his face slightly.
‘Yes. We were very careful, and the Saracens were inefficient. What would you expect from heretics? They knew that the castle’s garrison was dying of thirst, so they chose to assault it in a hurry.’
‘You say all died?’ Sir Walter said.
‘Yes. Our comrades fought with courage for days, but there was no water. I am sure all were slain. When the Saracens launched their final assault they had no chance.’
Alwyn shook his head. ‘They will have been offered the opportunity to convert to Islam. Those who agreed will be enslaved, the rest beheaded.’
Godfrey shook his head. There was a sneer on his face. ‘But you and your friends here got away.’
‘You think we ran like cowards?’ Sir Roger blurted.
‘Master Godfrey, we were lucky. I say God allowed us to escape to come here and warn the army to prepare for battle,’ Odo said.
‘You think so? I say this stinks of a deliberate act. The Saracens allowed you to get away. They think we will leave the shore here if we learn of their army. They think us cowards.’
‘No,’ Alwyn said. ‘That is not how the Saracens think.’
‘No?’ Sir Walter said. ‘You have more experience of the Saracens. What do you think they would want?’
‘They will want us to meet them in pitched battle.’
‘What would be wrong with that?’ Odo said. ‘It is why we came here.’
‘Yes,’ Godfrey said. ‘We should march to meet them now.’
Alwyn spoke urgently. ‘Sir Walter, it would be an act of folly to go after Kilij-Arslan with the army here. There are not sufficient men trained in arms to take on the Saracen forces. They will capture or destroy all of us.’
There was a muttering in the watching crowds at that. Alwyn heard the word ‘coward’ from several lips. He saw Odo’s flash of contempt and glared about him. ‘I have fought these men – you can see my scars. Recognising weakness is not cowardice, it’s—’
‘If God is with us, it is heresy to suggest He would let us be defeated. Besides, what would you have us do?’ Odo asked, and faced Alwyn. ‘Run to the shore and hope ships will come to take us back to Constantinople? We have ridden hard to bring this terrible news. It was a hard-fought battle at the castle, and our companions were slaughtered, but we escaped to warn you. We could remain here and build defences, but they will be prepared for that. There is little here which could be made defensible in the time we have. But if we march, we can attack them before they expect us. We can turn the tables on them. In their pride and arrogance they will think us cowed, but if we take the battle to them, we can swiftly succeed.’
‘Charge a Saracen army?’ Alwyn scoffed. He could not imagine that others would agree with Odo. ‘Do you have any experience of battle? Do you know nothing about your enemy? You’ve seen how they fight. They are professional, terrible – and numerous! Better by far to wait here until reinforcements arrive.’
‘If we take the fight to them it will show how Christians with God on their side can defeat even this great enemy host. Think how that will add to God’s glory! Where is Peter the Hermit? We should consult with him.’
‘He is gone to the city to discuss food with the Emperor,’ Sir Walter said.
‘When will he be back?’
‘In a day or two.’
‘He may be too late.’
Looking at the people who ringed their discussion, Odo felt satisfaction that most of the pilgrims understood the need to engage the enemy. It was clear that the same was not true of Alwyn. The Saxon registered stark horror to see that they were agreeing with Odo.
Now Alwyn spoke more loudly, trying to persuade the audience. ‘You want to be glorious? Defeat is not glorious! Running back here with your tail between your legs, and all your comrades dead or enslaved behind you, is not glorious! It would be folly to risk so much when all you need do is wait a little until more men – trained men – can lend their aid.’
‘God willed us to come here and fight,’ Odo said.
‘Yes. Not to throw away your lives needlessly, but to win back His city.’
‘Then what would you do? Sit here and wait? For how long, master?’ Odo asked, flinging an arm towards the east. ‘Until winter comes? Or until the Saracens appear over the horizon? Soon, I have no doubt, the Saracen army will turn its attention to us. Perhaps you would prefer that they should arrive unannounced? There was no quarter given at our castle. I expect none here. We came to bring you news of this disaster and prevent one still greater. We can only win if we march to meet them, not by sitting on our arses here and waiting for them to sweep down on us!’
‘Enough!’ Sir Walter eyed Odo and the others. Sir Roger had been silent all this while, although he watched and listened keenly as Fulk’s brother spoke. Fulk was surprised to see how the knight deferred to
Odo. ‘There is nothing to suggest that any of these men behaved in a manner that was anything other than honourable, and it is good to have their warnings. However, if they are right, we could have the Saracen army riding to us at any moment.’
‘All the more reason why we should ride to fight them,’ Godfrey said.
‘We shall do nothing until we have the agreement of all the commanders here,’ Sir Walter snapped. ‘These men rode from here without the approval of their leaders. If they had taken a more commanding force, perhaps they would not have been slain. As it is, they were wiped out, if the evidence of these men is to be believed. So, first, I want scouts to take to horse and search the land for any sign of the enemy. We need a message to go to Peter too. When we know the force against us, and where it is, we can plan our campaign.’
‘Plan our campaign? Wait to be caught between them and the sea, is more likely,’ Godfrey muttered.
Sir Roger had held his tongue until now, but he could not remain silent any longer. ‘I doubted him too, but I believe Odo when he says that he has been given this task by God. How else could we have escaped from the castle where we were held? How could we have made our way here safely? God’s Grace saved us. I believe that it must be Odo’s influence. God wants us to follow him.’
‘You think God speaks through him?’ Godfrey said.
‘There have been less likely prophets,’ Sir Roger said. ‘But it is not my place to question His authority or His choice. God wills it! Dieu le veut!’
‘Odo, it is good to see you again!’ Fulk said effusively as the two walked from Sir Walter’s pavilion.
‘And you. I hope I see you well?’
‘God has protected us.’
‘Where is Peter the Hermit? Sir Walter said he was gone?’
‘He has gone to Constantinople to ask for more and cheaper food. There have been fights with pilgrims convinced that the Greeks are trying to rob them. We hope Peter can persuade the Emperor to supply us more generously.’
‘Good.’ Odo looked at the ground.
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