The Waste Land

by Simon Acland

  “This place is too warm and too damp for our European blood – and it’s plagued by insects. If we stay here, we risk fever and plague. Our friends, arrived over the sea by the grace of God just at the time when we needed them, will hold this city secure in our rear. My friend Bagrat tells me of the riches in his Armenian homeland to the east. There we will be welcomed by fellow Christians who will freely share their wealth with us.”

  Since revealing myself to Baldwin, I trembled in trepidation at the vengeance that would doubtless be visited on me. At any moment I expected a summons, or to be clapped into irons without warning and led away to execution. I scarcely dared to sleep at night for fear of Bagrat’s dagger between my ribs. When nothing happened, I reflected that I must owe my survival to Baldwin’s same subtle appraisal of his men’s mood. I doubted whether they would have stomached the execution of one of their number for no reason other than that he had pleaded with Baldwin to do what all knew was right. It was also known that I was close to Godfrey, and many of those who now answered to Baldwin’s command had once been Godfrey’s men. Nevertheless I knew that I was now closely watched. What I did not know was that Baldwin had other plans in store for me.

  The evidence buried of the heinous crime in which all felt complicit and which all thus wanted to forget, and before his appeal to their base instincts of fear and greed had faded, Baldwin led his troops out of the city of Tarsus towards the east. We were unavoidably following in the footsteps of Tancred, now our sworn enemy. The depth of the enmity between the two erstwhile allies soon became clear. The first town on the march east across the fertile Cilician plain was Adana, on the River Seyhan. Tancred had passed through, leaving Welf, a Burgundian knight, in control with a small Norman garrison. Paying him back in his own coin, Welf stoutly refused to open the gates to Baldwin. With some difficulty we found a crossing over the river and passed on.

  We discovered Tancred himself two days’ march further on, in the city of Mamistra, also on a river running south into the sea. The city itself lay on the eastern bank of the river, with one ford of sorts to its north. A local tale told that the town had been founded by Mopsos, the legendary seer, son of Apollo and Manto, herself blind Tiresias’ daughter, when he fled from Troy. But I hardly needed powers of second sight to foresee the reaction that Baldwin would get from Tancred to any request for safe passage or entry into the town.

  Now came the summons from Baldwin that I had been dreading. My nemesis Bagrat appeared with four men-at-arms and an expression of glee which sat awkwardly on his weasel’s face. He ordered me curtly to accompany him to Baldwin’s tent. Hastily I counted off my options. I could not run; I was too closely watched. I could scarcely refuse to attend Baldwin and call on my companions’ sense of fairness and their residual affection for their former commander, for the order I had been given was unexceptionable. I had no choice but to comply. Bagrat watched me with cunning understanding as if he could read my thoughts. My heart was cold with fear but I tried to present as calm an exterior as I could manage as I followed the Armenian. The guard formed up closely behind me.

  Baldwin sneered when I appeared.

  “So, Godfrey’s little monk, you thought you were being brave when you showed yourself to us at Tarsus, didn’t you. But no. We have been watching you all along. Ever since your duke had his unfortunate accident.”

  Bagrat snickered and I marked that as a confession that he had cut Godfrey’s saddle girth. I swore to myself that I would extract revenge for my friend and patron.

  “But you did surprise me. I didn’t think you had the guts to show yourself openly at Tarsus. It made no difference. I have been keeping you because I thought that you might come in useful. I need someone to cross the river to beg Tancred’s indulgence. Someone to request a safe passage across the ford. Yet for reasons that I struggle to understand,” here Bagrat sniggered again at his master’s sarcasm, “no-one appears very keen to accept this mission. After those unfortunate events at Tarsus they seem to fear what Tancred might do to a messenger from me. They seem to think that he has a temper to match his red head. Ah well. I am sure you will be able to persuade him in one of the many tongues at your disposal. If you receive an arrow in the guts for your pains before you reach the walls, or a slower and more painful death in a Norman torture chamber, at least I will not have lost a real fighting man. The only loss will be my dear brother’s – of the report on me that you are doubtless readying for him.”

  Fear of Tancred’s vengeful rage now washed through me, followed by hope that the embassy might offer a chance of escape. Perhaps I could ride away before even reaching the walls. Or perhaps Tancred might be persuaded of my true feelings for Baldwin. Perhaps I could persuade him to offer me shelter. Baldwin and Bagrat regarded me silently like black cats playing with their prey. Then Baldwin continued.

  “Thinking of a daring escape, are you? Know that you will go to Tancred in plain woollen garb, like the feeble monk that you are. My men will escort you to the edge of the river. After that, should you deviate, it will be an easy matter for them to pick you off with their crossbows, unarmoured as you will be. And just in case your silver tongue persuades Tancred to accept you as his guest, know that five of Godfrey’s old soldiers will die in your place if you fail to return.”

  Bagrat walked to the entrance flap of the tent and at his curt gesture Baldwin’s guards pushed in five chained veterans. I recognized them behind their bemused expressions as decent Lorrainers who had survived the long journey from Bouillon. With a start I saw that one was none other than Stephen, the sergeant who had taught me to fight, and who now gazed forward with a silent plea on his face, his scarred eyelid drooping more mournfully than ever. What on earth had possessed him to ride with Baldwin, I asked myself?

  “What did they do, Bagrat? Ah yes, disobeyed my orders. Found looting perhaps, or was it fornicating? Dreadful breach of discipline. Anyway, we can decide later, if we have to put them to death. But I am sure that will be unnecessary. Brother Hugh here is an honourable man. He would not wish to have the deaths of innocent men on his delicate conscience.”

  Baldwin’s sneering jibe showed me the hopelessness of my predicament. I was determined to show no fear in front of this monster. As commanded, I took off my mail, thinking it better to do so myself with a modicum of dignity than to be stripped by force. Bagrat went through my belongings and sniggered when he found my old black habit still in my pack.

  “Put it on – little monk.”

  He thrust it scornfully at me and then led me with his escort to the river. There he stopped, safe from Tancred’s men, and told me to go on. I rode slowly through the stream. On the far bank my horse shivered off some of the water. I echoed his motion with a shudder of my own, cold in body under my thin garment, and cold in heart at what awaited me. Then I rode on, acutely aware of the crossbowmen’s quarrels pointing at my back. I hoped that they had kept on their safety catches; I knew how light those crossbow triggers could be. At the gate I told the captain of the guard that I had a message for his commander. With a new escort I passed through the town to the fine house that Tancred had made his residence, dismounted and went inside. I looked up at the sky above the narrow street, thinking that I might not see it again. Admitted to Tancred’s presence I bowed low, in spite of the fact that the Norman was no older than me, hoping with good manners and flattery to deflect his rage.

  “My Lord Tancred, Hugh de Verdon, of the household of Lord Godfrey de Bouillon, at your service.”

  “How is Lord Godfrey?” answered Tancred, “Has he yet recovered from his wound? And tell me your news of my uncle Bohemond and the rest of the army. Have they secured their safe passage round the mountains?”

  “Nay, my Lord,” I stammered, “I’m sorry. I come from the opposite direction. At my master’s command I went with his brother. Baldwin has now sent me to you, to crave your pardon and indulgence for his sins toward you at Tarsus. He wants you to give him safe passage across the river and on towards the
East.”

  Tancred coloured as he rose from his seat. His voice rose in a furious crescendo.

  “I admire your courage. But I question your wisdom. How dare you come to me with a message from that fiend? His trickery was bad enough. But do you think I don’t know how he caused the cowardly slaughter of my Norman cousins?”

  The room burned with hostility stoked by these words. Tancred reached for the dagger in his belt and stepped forward.

  “Why shouldn’t I slay you on the spot, or at least cut out your tongue or put out your eyes?”

  I remembered with acute clarity Baldwin’s maiming of the Pechenegs who had been sent back as broken messengers to their emperor. Trying hard to hold Tancred’s gaze and to show no sign of weakness in case it precipitated violence, I answered quickly in a level voice.

  “My Lord, I was only chosen as messenger to you because Baldwin hates me.”

  Tancred’s angry eyes widened a little.

  “He is as cold as he is cunning. If I do not return, or if I return harmed, he will see the anger that you feel for him. Then he will be forewarned to battle his way across the river. He still has many more men than you. As they are complicit in his crime at Tarsus they will fight hard for him.”

  Tancred moved towards me, his dagger levelled.

  “Wait, please. If you harm me, Baldwin will have won. He’ll have driven a wedge between you and Godfrey, and thus between Godfrey and your uncle Lord Bohemond. Godfrey loves me well, for I have served him well.”

  Tancred now paused.

  “I am a little like Uriah the Hittite, you see. David set him in the front rank of his army to be struck down to serve his own purposes.”

  I managed to wring out a weak smile.

  “Not that I wish to compare the great King David with the unholy Baldwin of Boulogne. But I must go back, for he holds hostages against my return. He will kill them if I seek refuge with you.”

  The flame still burned in Tancred’s eyes. He looked round the room to see how his comrades had reacted to my words. A couple looked sceptical but more seemed impressed. To my relief Tancred was a little calmer when he turned back to me.

  “I count Godfrey as a friend. He is my uncle’s ally. I see perhaps why he values your service. You may be young but you seem no fool.”

  I still had enough of my wits about me to see the humour in this comment. After all, I had seen this contemporary of mine fall for a simple trick and lose a city.

  “Go back to your camp. Tell Baldwin that he may pass unmolested on his way. Tell him that I have enough troops to man these walls but too few to sortie against him. Tell him that I seem to have heard nothing of the slaughter outside the walls of Tarsus. Let him think that no survivors were left to tell of it. And tell him that I am man enough to chuckle at the trick he played on me, now that I am master of a richer city. Tell him even if you like that I am now a wiser and less trusting knight and grateful to him for his lesson.”

  Trying to contain my relief, I bowed deeply and turned to go. Tancred grasped my arm, pulled me round, and brought his pale freckled face up close to mine. I smelt sour wine on his breath.

  “And if you play me false, next time we meet I’ll not be so merciful.”

  I have no memory of how I got back to the street, nor how I passed through the gates, but once riding back towards my escort across the river I started to shake. I longed to return to the relative safety of Tancred’s walls, but could not bring myself to leave Stephen and the four soldiers to their fate. Nor did I wish to expose to Tancred my cowardice. So I struggled back across the ford, and in silence rejoined the escort, now without Bagrat, who had not deigned to wait for my return. They led me back to Baldwin’s tent.

  “So…what treachery is this?” he hissed as I entered, his sibilants lengthening as always when he was angered, making him seem more reptilian than ever. “What price did you pay to escape the rage of that ginger-headed fool?”

  I tried to hold Baldwin’s eyes in mine as I gave an honest enough account of my interview with Tancred.

  “He wants you to believe that he is too weak to attack you, but your men should stand ready for an attack at any time. Forewarned, you will have no difficulty fighting off his inferior Norman force. When you have driven them back behind their walls, you will then be able to cross the ford unmolested. There, that is what you wanted. Now get it over with. Make an end of it.”

  I felt weary, exhausted as though I had come to the end of a hard journey. I saw the plea glinting unspoken in Bagrat’s hard eyes, and expected Baldwin to hand me over as a toy for his henchman’s cruelty. Indeed I was so tired and drained, that a strange half-feeling of disappointment pricked me when instead I was returned to the charge of my escort. As if from a distance, I heard the order to bind and watch me carefully, and a separate order given to double the guard on the camp in expectation of an attack at any time. I hoped that Tancred would attribute this watchfulness to Baldwin’s natural suspicion, and not to a warning given by me. If I survived, the last thing I wanted was a second dangerous enemy.

  Things did happen as I had predicted. Tancred’s men fell angrily on the camp just after dawn the next day. Baldwin’s men were prepared and easily held the Normans off, and then pushed them back with their superior force. Bound and guarded, I was well back from the fight. I was gladdened by that at least. I had seen too much of Crusader at the throat of Crusader. Tarsus had been betrayal enough but here Christians were spilling Christian blood with their own weapons. This was a sin of commission to follow one of omission. After a rough struggle that left a few dead and wounded on either side, Tancred’s men withdrew to the other side of the river and took refuge behind Mamistra’s walls. Baldwin then gave the command to strike the camp and move on eastwards.

  I still expected to discover my ultimate fate at any time, but instead remained a prisoner, tied to my horse during the now noticeably shorter days. Through mid-October we marched straight into the morning sun and watched it set in the direction from which we had come. When evening came my numbed legs were untied and I flopped unceremoniously to the ground, unable to stand until the blood had flowed painfully back into my limbs. I could only speculate that Baldwin thought I might be useful again and kept me alive for some such eventuality. I remembered Lord Godfrey’s comment about Baldwin’s almost inhuman patience, and the memory made me long to be back at his side.

  The Christian Armenians through whose towns and villages we passed welcomed Baldwin’s force with open arms as liberators and protectors from the Saracens. I felt pity towards them. Soon they would discover the real nature of the man. Their land was rich and the harvest had been plentiful, and the Armenians gave freely of their provisions. Baldwin was anxious to move forward without delay, and was glad to receive supplies rather than forage for them. So in spite of the pleasure he took in pillage and cruelty, he had given a strict command that the inhabitants were not to be molested in any way. Tight discipline was maintained, and any soldier foolish enough to transgress the order paid a dear price, usually discharged at the end of a rope hanging from a wayside tree. I came close to envying them their quick death, expecting that when my own time came, Bagrat’s ingenuity would fashion something lingering and altogether more unpleasant. Meanwhile I struggled with my captors’ knots, which were retied the same way every day, until I dared to hope that I had their measure and, given the opportunity, might be able to release myself.

  We crossed the great River Euphrates and passed into Mesopotamia. We reached a small town, peaceful, surrounded by orchards. Neat houses of wood and stone clustered around an ancient domed church. My captors camped a little way outside in an idyllic grove amongst almonds and peach trees. Fine rows of vines, now relieved of their juicy purple burdens, rose up the shallow slopes on either side of a small stream that ran down from the gentle hills beyond. I was put in mind of the Garden of Eden before the Fall.

  Darkness fell. Perhaps some slight was given in the town, or imagined, or manufactured. Perhaps t
he inhabitants sought to hide some of their crops; perhaps they tried to protect the choicest barrels of freshly pressed wine. Maybe Baldwin simply wanted to loose his dogs and exercise their brutality before tightening the leash of discipline once more for the final advance towards Edessa. I was left tied to a tree on the edge of the camp, which was itself almost deserted. Most of the troops went to collect supplies in the town and only a skeleton guard remained behind. From the direction of the town came the sound of men shouting, women screaming, and I saw the orange flicker of rising flames. The few soldiers nearby looked quickly at each other, perhaps wondering if they were under attack, or if they were missing some entertainment. They grabbed their weapons and raced through the darkness towards the commotion.

  Now was my chance. I struggled with the tight knots behind my back, whose familiar contours I had mapped out so carefully on those painful daily rides. Bit by bit the rope began to give a little and loosen. I swore under my breath as a fingernail broke but then my wrists came free. In triumph I pulled my arms from behind my back only to gasp with pain as blood and feeling poured back into my hands. I had to wait a few frustrating moments before my fingers would obey my command to undo the ropes around my ankles. Then, cautiously looking about, I pulled myself upright.

  I had earlier marked that all my belongings were carried on a packhorse led behind my guards. Perhaps none of them had felt strong enough to claim them for their own; probably Baldwin had ordered it thus. Anyway, I was able quickly to re-equip myself, slipping into the weight of my mail coat, and strapping back the precious sword given to me by Godfrey. Accoutred as a knight once more, I should have taken horses and supplies and fled. But instead some strange force of fate drove me stealthily towards the noise and flames rising in the town. I was curious. I wanted to see what had drawn all Baldwin’s men. Maybe they really were under attack and I could witness their destruction or even join in. Before making good my escape I also told myself that I needed to know what pursuit to expect, and whether I had to contend with a new enemy. So I slipped through the shadows to the edge of the main square.