Alwyn rode with the Normans, resentful at the turn of events. Sir Roger had saved his life, and that meant Alwyn was in his debt. Honour obliged Alwyn to help the man, to protect him. It left a sour taste in his mouth.
The tower was a square block with the familiar Greek castellations, such as could be seen throughout the Empire, but it was in poor repair. Although since the news of Xerigordos had arrived, some men had begun to attempt to rebuild the worst of the ravages of time, still the tower was a solitary building in a land of broken walls and half-demolished houses. Yet the walls of the tower itself did appear to be strong. They were a yard or more thick at the base, and enclosed an area of some fifteen yards by twenty.
‘It will have to suffice,’ Sir Roger said.
Gilles nodded, and as the first of the older pilgrims began to make their way to the building, urged on by Eudes and Lothar, he rode to the farther side of the encampment, where he saw more people.
‘We must make this place defensible,’ Sir Roger said, and climbed from his horse. ‘Help me.’
Alwyn remained on his horse. ‘First I have to tell you something.’
‘Be quick, then!’
‘I intended to kill you. You are my enemy and the enemy of my family.’
Sir Roger peered up at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I am English. You and your people killed my father and my uncle. Your father slaughtered my people.’
‘And you think that matters now?’
Alwyn stared. ‘You think this is a joke?’
‘I think there are other things to worry about.’
‘I would have killed you today, but you saved my life. I must repay that debt, but when I do, I will seek revenge for what you and your father did to my family.’
There was a sharp cry, and Sir Roger’s attention snapped over towards the sea, but he could see nothing. He looked up at Alwyn, and then slowly gazed out across the pilgrims’ encampment again. ‘I honour you for bringing it up, man, but do you not think we could see to our defences now, and save this conversation for later?’
Alwyn felt his mouth twitch into a half-grin. This Norman was likeable, he admitted. ‘Aye. Let’s get this place ready to receive the remaining pilgrims.’
As Sir Roger and the men trotted away, Odo glanced at his brother. ‘Fulk, I need to find—’
‘I know: Jeanne. Let’s go and fetch her and Sybille.’
Odo felt embarrassed. ‘Jeanne is a good woman.’
‘I am sure of it, Odo. She deserves a little good fortune.’
‘Because of her journey?’
‘That as well,’ Fulk said. ‘Guillemette told me a little about her. They have neither of them had much luck in life. You will be good for her.’
Odo shrugged. ‘I will try to be.’
He spurred his horse towards the sea while Fulk rode on to the camp where Sybille had her tent. Fulk would bring Sybille, but Odo was not going to worry about that for now. The main thing was to find Jeanne and rescue her.
Jeanne had always loved the sea. She had told him so. He remembered that time when they had first spoken, and she had said she would marry her husband by the sea and he had sworn to himself that he would be the man she married. He wondered on the way what it was that Guillemette could have said about her. It made him frown that Fulk knew more about her than he did, but then he put the thought from his mind.
He saw her now, a solitary figure sitting on a rock near the water, and he rode to her filled with joy that he might at least save her. ‘Jeanne! Jeanne!’
She turned and he saw her break into a smile at the sight of him. She slithered and slipped down from her rock and was at the foot of it as he reined in.
‘The Saracens are coming,’ he said. ‘You need to come with me, Jeanne. I have a boat and I can save you. I’ll take you to Constantinople with me. You’ll be safe there.’
‘But . . . what about the others here? I must get—’
‘There’s no time. We need to hurry. Come with me. I will marry you and protect you, and when we reach Jerusalem we can—’
She had blanched. ‘Marry? I cannot marry you, Odo.’
There was no debate about her words. She was entirely certain. Odo felt his face harden. ‘I thought you loved me; I thought I made you happy!’
‘You do. But I cannot marry you. I am married already.’
Odo felt that his world had shattered like a dropped pot. A terrible emptiness consumed him. He heard a loud roaring in his ears that all but deafened him, overwhelming even the waves crashing on the beach. ‘Married? To whom?’
‘My husband in Sens. He made me . . . he made me do things I didn’t want, so when the pilgrimage was announced, I came away with Guillemette and the others.’
‘Guillemette? The whore?’
Jeanne lifted her chin. ‘She is my friend.’
‘How could you be a friend with—’ That was when he was suddenly struck with the enormity of her confession. ‘You mean, you are a whore too?’
She coloured. ‘I am a pilgrim, just as you are. Any sins I have committed are between me and God, not you.’
‘No! No, no, no,’ he said, stumbling backwards, hands held up as though to stem the words flowing from her.
So this was what Fulk meant. She was another draggle-tail! Fulk was laughing at him! His own brother had known that he was wooing a woman who was a common whore and, worse, a woman already married. Jeanne had polluted him, his mind, his soul. He had wanted to give her everything, but she had taken it knowing her soul was befouled.
‘NO!’
In that moment, all love was burned away by the heat of his anger: the love for this woman, the love for his brother, both were scorched away like hair in a flame. There was no space for affection in the emptiness of his soul, only hatred.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. There was a flash of sympathy in her eyes, a spark of compassion, but he was repelled by it and by her. To think that he, a warrior and leader of men for God, could have been taken in by this . . . this witch. She would have polluted him and brought the pilgrimage to destruction and ruin. Look at the events of today – already the pilgrim army was destroyed, even though he, Odo, had been given God’s own mark of approval. And God had saved him from the disaster of the ambush, only to allow him to come here.
But God had shown him her evil, shown him Fulk’s betrayal. Fulk should have told him what Jeanne was, but instead he kept the information to himself like a miser hoarding gold. Fulk was a heretic, surely, to have concealed this news.
He stared at Jeanne, but saw only a foul, disgusting agent of the Devil. She was a whore. She should not be here with devout pilgrims who sought to bring about God’s victory on earth. She should never have been here.
There was a roaring in his ears as he grabbed her and put his arm about her neck. He didn’t hear her short scream, which was instantly stilled as he clenched his arm and began to squeeze. All the while he recited the Paternoster in a whisper. He hoped that she would be forgiven. He loved her, after all.
She struggled, so he drew his dagger and thrust it into her until she stopped.
Fulk found Guillemette with other women at the river’s edge, trying to wash their clothes. It was not efficient, and the tide kept rising up the river’s mouth, but it was better to have clothes that smelled of brine and sea weed than those that reeked of sweat alone.
Guillemette looked up at the sound of his horse, and her relief to see him alive lit up her face. ‘Fulk, are you uninjured?’
‘You must come with me. Right away! Where are Sybille and Richalda, and Jeanne? Where are they?’
‘Richalda and Esperte are over there at the tower, playing. Why?’
‘What of Sybille?’ he asked, following her pointing finger. He didn’t see her face fall.
At one time, there had been a wall enclosing the whole port, and the squat, Byzantine tower was all that remained of the corner where two walls met. All about it were loose rocks and rubble. He saw Sir Rog
er and Alwyn up on the walls, staring back the way they had come.
He said, ‘Get ready to leave. The Saracens have cut our army to pieces, and they will be coming here next.’
A woman grabbed at his stirrup. ‘Was my Piers there?’ Another fell to her knees. ‘My Karl – did you see him? A tall man, like . . .’
There were many others crying out to him, seeking a comforting word, something they could cling to: a mere hope. ‘I don’t know, mistress. I don’t think many escaped,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I must go! Get to the tower. You will not be safe here in the open.’
But before he rode off, he bent down and whispered urgently, ‘There is a boat, Guillemette. I won’t leave you here. Tell Mathena, and Jeanne if you see her: gather your things and make your way to the port. And hurry!’
Guillemette stared out to the sea as he rode off towards the tower to find Richalda and Esperte, but then she sighed, grabbed a few clothes from her pile, and wrapped them into a ball before making her way to the camp at a brisk trot. Mathena hurried to grab her belongings and follow her. Guillemette could see Fulk at the tower with other men, and as she reached her part of the camp and began to thrust the little food and possessions into a bag, Roul appeared.
‘Roul, where is Sybille?’
‘She went towards the rocks over there with Gidie, to see if they could catch a crab or fish,’ Roul said, pointing towards rocks nearer the harbour. Something in her expression made him hesitate and frown. ‘Mistress?’
‘The men are all dead. The Saracens are coming here. We have to leave. Some will stay in that tower, but as many as we can, we must help escape. There is a ship . . .’
Roul’s face had fallen. ‘The whole army?’
‘You must help, Roul. Fulk is fetching the girls.’
Roul said no more, but began to gather his pack and threw the strap of his scrip over his neck and shoulder. Guillemette shook her head. The rest of their belongings were too few and worthless to worry about. She rolled the last of the clothes into a tighter ball, thrust them into the bag, and looked about for Fulk. He was riding back with Richalda sitting before him, Esperte clinging on behind.
‘Sybille and Gidie went to fish,’ she called as he approached, pointing towards the cluster of rocks.
He nodded, helping the two girls down. ‘I will go and fetch them. Hurry! Make your way to the port!’
Odo had carefully laid Jeanne’s body on the sand she loved so much, and crossed her forearms over her breast. Her eyes were staring up at the sky, and he left them open. She would like that view, he thought. She was so lovely, even now she was dead. He only hoped that her soul would be free and find redemption after the catastrophe she had brought upon the army.
He didn’t mount his horse, but instead walked it back towards the harbour. The roaring in his ears was growing quieter. It was much like the sea in a storm, but now it was diminished. In it he thought he could hear the bellowing of demons in Hell, furious that they had failed to catch him. He was disorientated, confused, as if he had been drinking wine for a week, and his steps were careless. Tripping, he almost fell flat on his face.
Fulk had known about this, his own brother had known and not told him, not warned him.
On the way there was another group of rocks with many pools. He saw movement ahead, a man and woman clambering over the rocks: it was Gidie and Sybille, he saw. She was no whore, Fulk had told him. Rather, she was the unfortunate victim of disasters herself. Her husband dead, her money all gone. She would be glad of an escape. She did not deserve to be left behind. Of course, Fulk wanted her, but Fulk could never remain loyal to any one woman. He was always looking for the next entanglement. Besides, he did not deserve her. He had kept news of Jeanne’s background from him. With Odo, she would have a better life.
Odo deserved her.
‘Mistress, you must come with me,’ he said when he was closer.
‘Why?’
‘The Saracens will be here at any moment. We have to escape and bring news of this disaster to the Emperor.’
‘Disaster? What do you mean?’
Gidie was looking at Odo’s sleeve. Odo glanced down and saw the blood. He wiped at it ineffectually. ‘The army is dead. They ambushed us and have killed or enslaved the whole army.’
‘My God! What of Fulk?’
Odo looked at her. She was a fine woman, he thought. She was Christian and faithful, and God could not object to her. ‘My brother was with me in the battle,’ he said. She seemed to totter, and he reached forward to steady her. ‘Mistress, you must come with me. I will look after you.’
‘Fulk dead?’ she whispered.
‘Come quickly!’
The old man nodded to him and took her arm. ‘I’ll help. If you can save her, so much the better.’
Odo nodded, and mounted his horse. Gidie helped her up to sit before Odo, and Odo put an arm about her belly.
‘What of Richalda?’ she said distractedly.
‘She will be in the boat,’ Odo said.
‘No, I have to have Richalda!’ Sybille shouted, and struggled to free herself.
‘Mistress, I will get her,’ Gidie said placatingly. ‘You go to the boat, swiftly as you may, and I will see you there. Master Odo, take her there. I will bring Jeanne.’
‘Hurry!’ she called after him.
Odo spurred the horse on and they reached the boat in little time. When Odo stared back towards the camp, he could not see the man. It was a relief at first, but then he saw Gidie. He was at the shore, near the rock where Jeanne had been sitting. Where she still lay.
He rode on, the hoofs clattering down the stones to the pier, and there he set Sybille on the ground. The shipman was by his little boat, and Odo pointed. ‘Go to it, mistress. I will fetch Richalda and any others.’
She nodded dumbly, and he turned his horse and set it at the ramp from the pier again.
Gidie saw Jeanne almost as soon as he left Odo. The body was lying just at the edge of the water, and when he hurried to her, he saw the iridescent colours of the water about her, and realised it was her blood colouring the waters.
He sank to his knees at her side, and put out a hand to her throat, but with her eyes wide like that, and her blood staining the sand, he had no hope of finding a pulse. ‘Poor maid,’ he whispered. She was so like to his own dear Amice, that he felt his heartstrings tugging.
There was the sound of hoofs drumming on the sand, and he looked up in time to see Odo appear.
‘Master Odo, I am sorry, this woman is dead,’ he said. All knew that Odo and she had been handfast.
Odo rode up without breaking his mount’s pace, and Gidie realised that he had his sword unsheathed. He gaped as Odo lifted his weapon, but then he threw himself aside, and the blade went wide. Gidie shouted, ‘Man, what are you doing? I didn’t kill her!’
On hearing his words, Odo let his sword drop. Gidie thought he looked wild-eyed, a little mad, and reminded himself that Odo had until a few scant hours ago been fighting in a battle in which he had seen all his comrades slain. It was no surprise that he stared about with agitation.
‘I have to go!’ Odo said. ‘I have to tell the other men about this so that we can have more men come. Yes, that’s what I have to do.’
‘What about the woman’s child? You can’t go without her.’
Odo looked down at him as though seeing him for the first time. ‘Child? Yes, her child. You must fetch her to the port. Leave poor Jeanne here. Hurry!’
Gidie nodded and rose, setting off for the tower.
He had only gone a few paces when Gidie felt the blow on his head and he immediately fell down to the sand.
CHAPTER 34
Civitot, Wednesday 15th October, 1096
Fulk heard a shout, and glanced towards the tower to see Gilles and Eudes waving frantically. When he looked over his shoulder towards the battlefield, he could see that a cloud of dust was rising, black against the sky.
‘Quick! To the tower! There are men there who
can help,’ he said.
‘What of my mother?’ Richalda asked plaintively.
‘She will be safe,’ Fulk said. The dust was not so thick that it could be produced by a large force, he thought. Perhaps it was raised by a scouting party. ‘I will make sure of that. Come with me and I will take you to her.’
Roul had already told him where Sybille had gone, and Fulk was keen to be away, to take her to the ship and see her safely aboard, but she would never leave her daughter behind, he knew. But he would not go with them. So long as Richalda and Sybille were safe, he would be happy. He would remain here with the other pilgrims, rather than leaving them to their fate. He held out his hand and Richalda looked at it a moment, then took hold and climbed up behind him, holding tight to his belt.
Even as he stared, the first men appeared, but they were not the fierce, dark-skinned and bearded warriors he had feared, these were the rag-tag remnants of the pilgrim army. Thirty, then another twelve, and then dribs and drabs, running with the drunken, stumbling gait of the exhausted or terrified.
‘Roul! Make sure as many of these women get to the tower as possible. I’ll be back soon,’ Fulk said, adding, ‘Hold on tightly, maid,’ before spurring towards the men at an ungainly canter. Roul nodded and picked up a long-handled war hammer, weighing it in his hands while he urged the women to hurry.
To Fulk’s surprise, he saw that one of the men was Godfrey Burel, the Hungarian leader of the foot soldiers, who had done so much to persuade Sir Walter to take the battle to the Saracens. ‘Godfrey, how many men are with you?’
Burel’s eyes snapped up to him. There was no terror in his face, only an all-consuming rage, Fulk saw. ‘Mayhap I have a few hundred. Not a man more, I’ll swear. Those heathens cut us off. They rode in between me and the rest of my men and slaughtered them all, the cowards! They wouldn’t fight cleanly, but rode round and round, letting their arrows fly until the men were all slain.’
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