‘Never has a friend been more welcome!’ Sir Roger said, grinning.
‘I thought Odo was here to capture or kill me,’ Fulk said.
‘Yes, but now you have saved us, you must be honoured. I will see to it.’
‘Perhaps after the battle?’ Fulk suggested with a smile.
The fighting was soon finished. The sudden charge of the reinforcements under Alwyn and Fulk had shattered the confidence of the remaining Saracens, and they drew back, some few archers trying to loose arrows in retreat, but the turcopoles were fleet on their fast, light mounts, and soon the Christians had won the field.
As the turcopoles went from man to man on the ground, ending the suffering of the injured and saving those they could, Fulk saw Odo being carried to the shade of a blanket thrown between two trees. He was very pale, and Fulk hurried to his side. ‘Odo?’ he said, but then stopped at the sight of the blood.
‘Fulk?’ Odo was pale and weakened from loss of blood, and when he bared his teeth, it was less a smile and more like a snarl. ‘I am here to capture you.’
‘And instead I rescued you and your men.’
‘You must come back with me.’
‘You’re in no position to force me, Odo,’ Fulk said coldly.
‘How does it look?’
Fulk kept his eyes on his brother’s face. ‘Little more than a scratch.’
‘Will I be able to knead dough again?’
Fulk pulled a grin. ‘What? I know you’re only a mediocre baker, but even you can’t use this to escape work. You need a more sensible excuse.’
‘You’re a dreadful liar,’ Odo said, and closed his eyes. ‘Do you have any water? I’m parched.’
‘I’ll get you some,’ Fulk said. He turned and went to fetch the skin from his saddle. Soon he was propping Odo’s head up while he set the spout to his brother’s mouth. Odo coughed a little, but then peered up at Fulk. ‘I hated you for what you did.’
‘What did I do?’
‘You never told me about Jeanne.’
Fulk’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean you didn’t realise? I could tell she was a . . .’ He stopped. The thought of Jeanne having been murdered was still too painful.
‘I had no idea. And now it’s irrelevant. I lost her.’
‘You killed her, Odo!’
‘I had to. I could not allow the pilgrimage to be harmed by one woman’s unchaste behaviour.’
‘You murdered her – how will that affect the pilgrimage?’
‘But it was too late,’ Odo said, as if he had not heard him. ‘I tried to remove the cause of the Lord’s dissatisfaction, but it was plainly too late. Our Lord had decided that the pilgrimage was not worthy, and destroyed it.’
‘You blame all those deaths on one woman?’ Fulk said, disbelieving. ‘Why would He turn his face from those most devoted people to His cause just for one woman’s misbehaviour?’
‘She was married, man! She should never have left her home and her husband!’
‘He was a bully and trickster. He beat her and sold her to his friends.’
‘But he was her husband.’
Fulk shook his head. ‘Everything is black or white to you, isn’t it? Good and evil – there is no graduation. People are not like that, Odo. We all struggle.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Fulk. There is too much worldliness in you. You should submit to God.’
‘Relax yourself, Odo, don’t overtax yourself.’
‘Yes, yes. You’re right,’ Odo said. He shot a quick look towards the arrow in his shoulder. ‘It is not very serious, is it?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Fulk said quickly. He could not look at it.
‘I am sorry for what I did, Fulk,’ Odo said after a while.
Looking up, Fulk saw that Gidie was nearby, watching Odo intently. ‘For killing Jeanne? For stealing my woman? For attacking Gidie? For seeking to capture me so you could execute me? There are many things for which you should feel remorse.’
‘I did what I thought was right.’
‘Aye, well, if I hear that you have mistreated Sybille, I will . . .’
‘What, break my head?’
Fulk stared at him coldly. ‘Don’t test me, Odo.’
Just then a man with a shock of white hair and the emaciated look of a man who had lived in the sun without nourishment for too long, arrived with a bloody leather bag which he dumped beside Odo. ‘How bad is this one, then?’
‘I shall go,’ Fulk said as the barber began to frowningly study the wound, cutting away the spare material to display the angry, puckering skin clinging to the bloody arrow. He pulled his bag nearer and tugged out a pair of pincers.
The man caught hold of his arm as he tried to walk away. ‘No, you won’t. I’ll need help digging this one out,’ the man said.
Fulk found he had no words to excuse himself. He stayed.
Lothar walked with Alwyn, both leading their horses to the lines set out at some distance from the battlefield where the beasts would be able to rest without the smell of blood to distress them.
Alwyn was quietly smiling to himself. Sara had already returned and was helping to fetch water for the injured, and Alwyn had a conviction that his world was improving. He was coming to the conclusion that she would make a better wife than concubine.
For his part, Lothar was glad merely to be uninjured. He had seen the body of Eudes as Sir Roger and Gilles went to find him. He had died quickly, so the knight had said, but afterwards he had been terribly trampled and broken as the battle raged over his body, and the men had to wrap him in his cloak to pick him up and carry him away from the dead Saracens for a proper burial. Sir Roger would not leave him with the corpses of his enemies to be picked over as though he was no better than them.
They left their horses with halters tied to ropes slung between low trees, and Alwyn went to find Sara, while Lothar stood patting his beast for a while, stroking her warm flanks and murmuring soft comforting sounds to her. She had been terrified in the battle, and only her innate obedience had allowed her to bear it. Now there was still an occasional tremor passing through her body, but she was growing more calm.
‘She looks a good beast.’
Lothar was suddenly stock still. He knew that voice: he would know it anywhere. ‘Heinnie.’
‘Yes. And if you will accept it, I willingly offer you my apology for Rudesheim. I rue the day I saw that town.’
Lothar turned slowly. Heinnie’s voice had sounded genuine, but Lothar found it hard to believe. It was, after all, Lothar who had scarred Heinnie and left him bleeding in the dirt. ‘Your face has healed,’ he commented.
Heinnie’s hand rose to the wound, red and raw in the sun, and Lothar watched his hands in case Heinnie should reach for a knife. He was always known to be deadly accurate at throwing knives. ‘Yes, the flesh is healing well. But my soul is still . . . broken.’
‘How do you mean, “broken”?’
‘Walk with me, Lothar.’
‘Do you mean to fight me again?’
Heinnie looked at him. ‘I have forgiven you this scar, Lottie. How can I do else? Please, walk with me.’
Lothar glanced at his horse, but then nodded. There was little enough that Heinnie could do to him, and Lothar was confident he could defend himself against any threat Heinnie might present. ‘Very well,’ he said. After they had crossed past the horse lines and were strolling up a shallow incline, he glanced at his companion. ‘How did you reach here? Did the Count come? Is he at the city?’
Heinnie seemed not to hear him. Instead, he walked with his head tilted slightly, his left ear over his left shoulder. His face held a sadness that quite touched Lothar. When he spoke, it was in a muted tone. ‘Do you hear anything?’
‘The wind, men talking, birds, the horses at the lines. What do you want me to hear?’ Lothar asked.
After a few more paces Heinnie gave him a look. ‘I hear things all the time. Things I should not hear. Perhaps I will stop hearing them if I reach
Jerusalem. I don’t know.’
Lothar peered at him warily. Something in Heinnie’s voice sounded like panic held on a tight leash, like a mastiff held away from other people.
‘What do you hear?’ he asked.
‘Steps,’ Heinnie said. He threw a look at Lothar. ‘Her steps. I have heard them every day, every night . . .’
‘The Jewess?’ Lothar said, and involuntarily cast a glance over his shoulder.
‘She is there now. I can hear her. When I look, there is a . . . a sort of mist. I cannot look too closely! Our army was defeated in a town called Moson. Did you pass it?’
‘No. We headed over the mountains towards Rome.’
‘I saw her there. She was in an alley. I just thought it was some . . . but it was her. And behind her, her brother. They have been with me ever since. All the time.’
Lothar sucked at his teeth. He had heard of superstitious sailors, but never before had he heard of a hard-headed Rhineland mercenary being so scared. ‘She is there now?’
‘Yes.’
‘What will you do? Would a priest help you?’
‘I cannot tell anyone. I will go to Jerusalem. Perhaps there she will forgive me.’
‘What then?’
‘I will stay there and dedicate my life to prayer and the protection of Christians. I will offer my life as penance, if she will just grant me a night’s sleep,’ Heinnie said.
Lothar was at a loss. Heinnie had been a friend for many campaigns, and Lothar had an urge to put an arm about him, yet still the memory of anger and hatred because of the murder of the girl and her brother lay heavily on him; now there was an added revulsion with this story of a ghost.
He was still there when Sir Roger appeared. The knight was quiet, and nodded in their direction. ‘Master Lothar, you are well?’
It was the oldest greeting known to a warrior: the acknowledgement of life and survival. ‘I am well, Sir Roger. You are also uninjured?’
‘Yes, I thank God. Although now, of all my men, only Gilles is alive. Eudes died in the battle. I will miss him.’
‘I am sorry to hear it.’
‘A priest is to speak some words over his grave. Would you come and join us?’
‘I would be glad to. I will miss him also.’
Heinnie nodded, and walked a little way with them towards the shallow grave scraped in the dirt near the valley’s floor. Then he walked on, past the little group with Father Albrecht as the priest began to intone the viaticum.
But as he left, Lothar could have sworn that he heard something; faint and almost drowned out by the sound of wind in the grass, he thought it was like the slapping of a sandal many yards distant.
Lothar felt a sudden piercing chill that made him shudder. The sound seemed to follow Heinnie.
CHAPTER 42
Plains before Nicaea, Sunday 26th October, 1096
Walking and leading his horse for some miles to rest it, Fulk was grateful when Lothar joined him and walked at his side.
The captain of the turcopoles had been slain in the battle along with several of his men, and those who had survived had suffered a number of greater or lesser injuries. Three who had been more grievously wounded than Odo had already perished, and now their bodies were bound to their horses like bags of grain. They would be buried at the coast, rather than delaying the journey to bury them. All the men felt the same fear: that the scouting party they had bested might reappear at any moment with a stronger force behind it. Meanwhile those with the worst injuries had been tied to litters which were being dragged along behind their horses. Odo himself was on one. He was hot and growing delirious with the pain of his shoulder, but Fulk knew there were excellent surgeons in the city. Odo would recover well enough, he had no doubt.
Lothar said, ‘You know your danger if you go back to Constantinople? You will be taken and, because you ran from the gaol, they will execute you.’
‘Yes.’
‘You are fixed on this course?’
‘What would you have me do?’ Fulk said. It was not a question framed from despair, it was based more on serious enquiry. He was genuinely intrigued to hear what Lothar would suggest. ‘I had thought to return to my home in Sens, but there I would be reviled for cowardice and not seeing the pilgrimage through to the end.’
‘Then do not give up on the pilgrimage.’
‘If I remain at Constantinople, I will be executed.’
‘Not if you are protected by a powerful man.’
‘Who would protect me from the Hermit and the Emperor?’ Fulk scoffed, but Lothar was perfectly serious.
‘If you come with my friends Heinnie and Father Albrecht, you will be safe. They came here with the army of Sir Hugh de Vermandois – you know who he is?’
‘Of course! He is the brother of our king.’
‘And as a royal prince of France, even the Emperor would think twice before insulting him. If you are under his protection, you will be safe.’
‘And you think this can be arranged?’
‘You will soon be a part of the army of Sir Hugh, and then you will be safe.’
Civitot, Monday 27th October
Fulk had made his mind up while riding here: he must accept Lothar’s suggestion.
The decision was easy to make, especially when he had met Father Albrecht and spoken with him. He took Mass with the priest on the Sunday and, with Lothar there, told him all that had happened, save mention of Odo’s murder of Jeanne and attempt to kill Gidie. They were matters for which Odo must himself confess and seek forgiveness. It was not Fulk’s part to accuse. To do so could cause suffering to Sybille, and he had no wish to see her endure more pain.
Fulk was glad of Lothar’s company as they reached the harbour. The Rhinelander’s stolid calmness was reassuring, and a strong counterweight to Heinnie’s nerviness. At every sharp sound, Heinnie seemed to spring into the air, and when there was none he spent his time listening acutely for something that only he could discern.
There were two fishing boats in the harbour, and over the water Fulk could see larger ships tacking over the waters, some heading towards them from Constantinople.
Fulk made his way to the horse dragging Odo’s litter.
‘Odo, the ship will be here soon,’ Fulk said.
Odo was lying on a litter, his injured shoulder a source of constant pain. ‘I am sorry, brother. You must surrender. Come back with me and accept the judgement of the Hermit.’
‘Odo, I’m sad to have made you unhappy. I am sad that you thought I tormented you over Jeanne. It was never my intention. I just thought you realised what sort of woman she was. But I can never forgive you for stealing Sybille.’
Odo grimaced. ‘I did what I thought best.’
‘Like you did with Jeanne.’
‘Yes.’
Fulk clenched his jaw till his teeth ached.
Odo continued, ‘A man has a responsibility to keep his wife obedient. She should be submissive and . . .’
‘Did you assault her?’
Odo looked at him, and a little smile played at his mouth. It looked like a sneer. ‘I have had to chastise her. She is my wife. It is my duty.’
Fulk stared at him. ‘What has she done to deserve that?’
Odo smiled. ‘She has argued with my decisions. I have a right to expect her support. I will have it. And her love.’
Fulk saw a malevolent gleam in Odo’s eye as he spoke. It was vengeful and cruel. Odo was determined to hurt Fulk. He would take Sybille when he wanted, and she would suffer torments at his hands, and Odo would ensure that Fulk knew. And I shall have to live with that pain and jealousy for all my days.
‘Odo, we shall never be friends again.’
Guillemette was at her little cookpot, stirring, when she heard a voice call to her, and she looked up with a smile of relief when she recognised Gidie. ‘You are back! Did you find him?’ she asked with barely suppressed anxiety.
She had seen Gidie go with apprehension, fearing that he would be ridi
ng into great danger, but after Sybille’s urgent warning, Guillemette was convinced that someone must go to alert Fulk. The sword was proof, if he needed it, of the message’s veracity. But after Gidie had gone, she had a terrible fear that he would not come back either. He and Fulk would die on that horrible shore in the land they called ‘Rum’. It was not to be borne.
‘Yes, he found me,’ Fulk said. He was a pace or two behind Gidie, and now he stepped around his companion, smiling to see how Guillemette stood gaping at the sight of him. ‘And I think I have you to thank for my freedom now.’
‘But – but you should not be here!’ she said.
‘I have been freed from the dangers by friends,’ he said. ‘I am safe now.’
‘What of Odo?’
Gidie looked at her as he squatted by the fire. ‘I have not killed him. But I will, when he is recovered.’
Fulk put his hand on Gidie’s shoulder. ‘Leave him, my friend. My brother is injured, and is no fit target for your ire.’
‘You may wish to forgive him, Fulk, but I cannot.’
‘Then at least promise me that you will avoid him. Do not challenge him here, Gidie. It can only lead to your destruction. Besides, perhaps his injury has beaten some sense into him.’ Fulk told Guillemette of his flight, meeting Gidie, and the battle in which he and his men rescued Odo’s company. ‘Father Albrecht was keen to inform everyone here that it was only my holy zeal that rescued him and the pilgrim party from annihilation, instead bringing God’s divine vengeance on the heretics,’ he grinned. ‘It is good to have so vocal a supporter. And now, because of that, I am to be placed under the protection of the Christian armies.’
Guillemette smiled. ‘That is good,’ she said.
‘Your pottage smells good.’
‘I have no need of food from others now,’ she said, looking at him very seriously.
‘Maid, I had no intention of asking any favours for—’
‘I am glad to hear it!’ she said sternly.
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