Then the river angled north to a narrow gap in the hills. They were forced to cross it or follow it north to the sea. Again, the archdeacon and the Lombardy nobles made their demands plain. They would continue east to Nixtar. They were in Danishmend territory now and had not even seen scouts watching them. They insisted the mountainous valley the river had cut to the Black Sea was an unnecessary detour. Certainly Nixtar was due east through more fertile land. They would be there soon and valiantly rescue the noble Bohemond.
Even Raymond’s promises to find boats once on the sea to sail east to Nixtar did not tempt them. By this time, no one trusted Raymond not to take what boats they found back to Constantinople. In spite of their apparent security from attack, they all knew that to split forces was to court danger, so they continued east after finding a second ford in the Halys. Crossing it this time was not such a cheerful event.
Elias, with Conrad and the Frankish commanders’ contingents, felt his heart sink almost immediately upon reaching the other side of the river. Gone were the fertile fields. Gone was the continuous source of usable water.
Three full days from the river, the pilgrims began to see the glint of metal from the tops of the low hills they rode between. Conrad’s contingent was in the van now, and had been since the village. Ranulf rode alongside Elias and Albrecht, his squinting eyes scanning where it was clear to see that paynim had them well in view. Those knights and men-at-arms who had risked removing their helms to try to reduce the effect of the sun now donned them and strapped them on firmly.
“Looks like we are in for some excitement,” the mercenary captain commented acerbically. “I had better find Leif and Thomas in case we are called into formation.” He saluted his companions, turned his horse, and made his way to the rear.
No scouts had returned for most of the day. They were delayed, captured, or dead. That so many sent in so many different directions were missing argued for dead.
Meanwhile, the pilgrim leaders rode together to confer.
“I wondered where they had got to,” Raymond said, his hand over his eye as he watched more and more soldiers on horseback gathering on the heights.
“Do you get the impression we are being funneled through this valley very deliberately?” the count asked.
“I think we are about to find out,” Raymond replied. He gestured forward to what for all the world looked like an opening in the line of hills. “No soldiers there,” he observed ominously. He looked back to where the German constable rode close behind him, gesturing for Conrad to ride up alongside him.
The leaders rode forward, conferring with their guides until they reached the wider gap that lay just before them. It was true that the hills that rose up on either side were completely unmanned. As they emerged on the other side, they found themselves in what seemed to be an all but deserted valley of immense dimensions.
Mounted on Gauner near where Conrad and Raymond spoke with the guides, Elias shielded his eyes to look at the vista that lay before him. After the long and anxiety-ridden ride in the Halys Valley, with low mountains funneling the pilgrims to this point, it was disorienting to look out over such a wide and mostly empty plain. The plain of Merzifon, the guides said it was called. They were at its edge, the pass from the valley behind them and more mountains many miles to the east. He had to shake his head to clear it of the unexpected vertigo.
The parlay broke up, and Raymond rode back to share the intelligence with his other commanders. Conrad walked his horse over to where his own German knights waited. He pointed to a speck almost in the middle of the plain. “They say that town is called Gūmūşhaciköy.” He indicated a distant scattering of structures surrounded by a continuous wall. “Raymond thinks we should head for it.”
“And what do you say, my lord?” asked Black Beast.
Conrad scanned the way ahead from the north all the way to the south. “The town looks big enough to have more than one well. Perhaps up here the wells don’t run dry in midsummer.”
“That is a big ‘if,’” the big knight with his bushy black beard responded.
Conrad glared at him. “This entire escapade is a big ‘if.’ I think it’s our best choice.”
Albrecht rode up to Elias’s side. “What is that dust cloud on the far horizon?”
Overhearing his question, Conrad asked, “What dust cloud? My old eyes can’t make it out.”
Elias stood in his stirrups and peered into the distance. “My lord, it looks like it is along the base of the mountains to the southeast. There is some wind over there. Perhaps it is merely that, a windstorm?”
Conrad frowned. “Let’s hope that is all it is.” He paused and shook his head. “If it is horsemen, then they are a good distance away. We should reach the town long before they cross to it.” He glanced around at the tops of the hills they had just passed between. “I see we still have our escort after all.”
Indeed, the familiar line of Turks spread along the ridges on either side of them.
Gerhardt shrugged. “They don’t seem to be forming any sort of attack. Just scouts?”
“Yes, but for whom and why?” the constable wondered.
As the pilgrims advanced into the wide plain, the Danishmend riders who had appeared on the hills kept their distance, tracking the pilgrims to both sides of the column. As a result, the Christians were able to move along more rapidly than they had to this point. When the walls of the town were visible to all, the pace increased with a promise of good shelter. The reprovisioning before the Halys turned north to the sea had revived spirits for a day or two, and the view ahead helped to reinvigorate them.
They reached the town of Gūmūşhaciköy just before dark, finding it empty of people and animals but supplied amply with three large wells near the middle of the mud houses. The commanders quickly dispatched their officers to direct the ox carts and remaining pack animals to the center of the town and select the first watch of pickets. They encircled the town, where they could see over the crude walls, while the clergy and peasants gathered by the wells, surrounded by the thousands of men who dropped where they stood and slept until it was time for their turns on watch. Elias and Albrecht found themselves bunked outside the mud wall of the deserted house Conrad and his household knights squeezed into. Elias knew he could have claimed space on the floor, but he preferred to stay outside with the squires where he could at least breathe.
Exhausted, the company slept. Elias was surprised to wake at dawn, having assumed his party would be posted to at least one of the watches during the night. “It looks like Conrad got us some extra rest,” he commented to Albrecht as he looked about for a place where he could discreetly relieve himself. Privacy was not possible, so he was already reaching into his britches for the cylinder of leather as he headed for the other side of the mud hut.
The prosthetic was wearing out by now, and he got as much piss on his britches as he did against the wall. He was mopping at the moisture when he heard a shout from the southwest. He dashed back to where his companions were grabbing helms, sword belts, and shields. “What is it? Oh my God!”
Through the gaps in the rickety wall around the town, he saw thousands of Turkish archers riding toward them. Someone screamed, “Shield wall!” unnecessarily, as long habit had the men forming concentric circles of outward-facing shields already.
This time, the Turks were not so chary about maintaining distance from the pilgrims. They knew the Christians would not leave the inadequate protection of the town walls, so they swooped close enough that as they veered to ride around the town some crossbowmen managed to pick off a few. These men in loose robes screamed like any other man and crashed down to the earth from horseback, getting trampled by their fellows riding over them.
The mounted archers were close enough, as well, to improve their own harvest. Elias saw that each time the archers rode by where the German contingent was stationed, about a dozen men in the shield wall were struck and fell. They were replaced almost as quickly by men in the wall b
ehind them in more encircling ranks.
Just as he was wondering yet again how the archers stayed so well supplied with arrows, the horses with their deadly cargo seemed to veer away. The space they had occupied was now filling with line after line of spearmen with shields. This was new. It was more like the Europeans had expected, in spite of Raymond’s experienced coaching.
Albrecht punched Elias’s shoulder to gain his attention. “Look there. Do you think that man could be…?”
Not wanting to raise his head any higher than he needed to, Elias strained to see where he indicated. “Who? Oh, you mean that one richly helmeted man? The one with the red streamer and all those particularly bloodthirsty-looking guards?” He looked back at Albrecht. “You think that’s Kilij Arslan? The sultan?”
He shrugged. “I would say get Thomas, but the man is out of crossbow range.”
As the morning wore on, it seemed to Elias that the ranks of Turks grew thicker and thicker, riding around and around, and making him feel dizzy and nauseous. He noticed Conrad talking to one of the guides, who was pointing here and there in the swarm of turbaned riders. He tied Gauner to a post and went to find out what his commander had learned.
Conrad was distracted, but he answered Elias’s question. “He identified the banners of all the tribes represented in that mess. There is one missing, it seems.”
Elias’s look apparently told Conrad he did not comprehend the significance.
“The emir of Nixtar is not here.”
“The one holding Bohemond,” Elias stated without inflection. “And?”
Conrad beckoned one of his younger knights. He pointed to the east and yelled something in the man’s ear that Elias did not make out in all the noise.
“I think we are about to find out where that emir is. Get back to your men.”
Elias wanted to stay and find out what he learned from the knight, but he could not disobey the order. He returned with alacrity, reluctant though he was, retrieved Gauner, and surveyed the still-circling Turks.
Ranulf was suddenly beside him. “What did he say?” he demanded without preamble.
Elias glanced at him. In the village Elias had marked how Ranulf had aged since Sebastiano’s death. “The emir of Nixtar is not among these attackers. How are Leif and Thomas?”
Ranulf’s eyebrows went up. “Nixtar, eh? I don’t know if that is a blessing or suggests worse to come. And Leif is anxious to kill something Turkish. Who knows with Thomas?”
They both looked over at where Conrad sat his mount and waited for one of the Byzantine knights attached to Raymond. The man’s face was flushed. Conrad listened to his message, nodded grimly, and turned to ride toward his German party.
One of his aides drew the men’s attention and then waited as they settled nearby to hear their commander’s words.
“That dust cloud some of you noticed to the east is coming toward us from the general direction of Nixtar. We are already hard-pressed, and reinforcements to the Turkish ranks will not do us any good. We have been deputed to break out of here somehow and do some scouting to the north and also look for more water.”
A chorus of voices demanding to be part of the scouting party nearly deafened Elias, who happened to be nearer the commander than most. His own voice was part of the din.
“I will take fifty knights. Go round up your men, including shield men, and let their officers know we are in for some rough riding. That should make….” Conrad leaned to his aide and asked the man a question. He relayed the answer. “That should give us about seven hundred men and at least fifty shields, in addition to the knights. We could go faster and retreat sooner with fewer, but it’s likely we will have to do some fighting.” His lips curled up at the edges at the enthusiastic cheer his men returned at this news. Nodding, he turned to ride to the command center for more instructions.
They waited until dusk fell and the Turks who harried them thinned out and melted away. The company of men, Elias among them, slipped out through the main gate and rode or walked away from the relative safety of the walled town.
Conrad led them east by northeast, toward the first range of hills between the plain and the sea. It seemed they were first to investigate the guides’ report of a year-round spring at the base of one hill that showed promise, its foot treed like an oasis in the desert and the hillside lushly green in spite of the heat. Their path intersected with a dark, muddy, and narrow river, which they continued to follow toward the base of the hills.
Once out of the walls of the town where they had camped, they no longer were alone. Elias nervously eyed the line of Turkish horsemen that appeared to be some sort of escort, for all they made no effort to attack.
When ahead they could see a town’s walls, Conrad shouted to hasten their pace and head for it.
Perhaps it was their haste to make the town, but no one saw the thin lines of horsemen riding toward them from three directions until they were nearly upon them. Elias could not tell that each of the three was a long, long line of men until they coalesced into ranks as they neared the pilgrim procession.
“Oh dear God,” Conrad exclaimed. He searched the nearing hillside. “There, the village. Make for it!”
On their lighter, faster horses, the Turks, again in the thousands, caught up with the men in the rear just before the full complement of infantry could get inside the village. As the knights rode in through the gate of the town, the residents were fleeing with everything they could snatch, out the postern gate into the gullies and hills.
The Turkish horsemen fell on the pilgrim stragglers, and with both arrows and slashing swords, made short work of them. They then tore toward the village gates but checked when they saw the thick rows of crossbowmen stationed there. The Turks peeled off, rode away a short distance, and stopped to look back at the village.
Panting, Elias quickly turned Gauner to face whatever assault was coming, only to see the backs of the Turks who had pursued them. He shot looks in every direction, only able to see through the walls of the village where no building blocked his view. What he could see told him little. Tensely, he waited, then finally unbuckled the helm strap under his chin and removed the helm to look about, letting the slight breeze dry his sweat-soaked hair. The village was a tiny one. The pilgrims filled, it seemed, every inch of ground between the buildings. They were trapped and they knew it.
Almost unable to move in the press, he finally saw some effort going on to organize the men and horses. He was surprised to see several young boys involved and realized they must be from the village. The young boys of any town, no matter where in the world and under any circumstances, would come out of thin air to make a coin or two. He shook his head at the very dependability of it.
Dismounting, he whistled to one of the boys, who turned his head and dashed toward Elias. As he approached, he slowed to a stop and stood looking at Elias, puzzled. The silver coin Elias held up before him cleared whatever mystery had halted him.
Elias gestured to his horse. He mimed tying Gauner up and getting him water and grain. Then he held the coin up again, and with his other hand, put forth two fingers. The universal language of trade did the trick. The boy smiled, his teeth impossibly straight and white, and, snatching the coin from his hand, took Gauner’s reins and led him to a hitching post. He took one puzzled glance over his shoulder. Seeing his look, Elias wondered what the boy had seen that no one else seemed to. He found himself checking his clothing and reaching up to his shorn hair, looking for telltale evidence that might reveal his secret.
Finding nothing amiss, he went in search of his friends. He found the mercenaries standing with Albrecht in the shade of a hut. “The knights?” he asked his squire.
Albrecht made a short bow. “I have not seen Alain, my lord, but the other two are over there.”
He followed his pointing finger to where Black Beast and Gerhardt were using the shade from their own horses’ bodies to stretch out. “They look like they are camped for the night,” he observed.
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br /> “Probably smart,” Ranulf replied. “Who knows when and if we will get to sleep again, and we can certainly use it.”
Elias was surprised to see a sort of resignation on his face. At first he assumed Ranulf dreaded the assault, but something in his mournful eyes disclosed to Elias that he expected far worse. It was not the first time Elias had realized that any or all of them might be killed on this journey. But it struck him hard and suddenly now. He had a vision of Maliha’s tear-stained face at their parting. He had to shove down a sob that threatened to erupt.
Ranulf seemed to sense his distress and slapped him on the shoulder. He spoke no words to reassure him.
Elias cast about for a reason to walk rapidly away. To his relief, he saw Conrad’s aide coming toward them. “The constable wants to see you all,” he said to Elias and his four companions.
It was not difficult to find the commander, though it was more than difficult to make their way to him through the press. Elias saw him just yards away. Conrad looked up and caught Elias’s eye. They continued, gazes locked, until they finally closed the distance between them. Conrad acknowledged the small group and gestured for them to step to the door of one of the mud huts.
Inside, he came right to the point. “If we can’t get out of here, we are all dead. Whether their sheer multitudes allow them to break through or they keep us here until we die of hunger, thirst, or heat, we are done for. I don’t relish that prospect. Friedrich has a plan, and I want you five to carry it out.” He stepped aside so that one of the infantry officers could come forward.
They had not seen the man in the hut until Conrad mentioned him. He was an older man, much battle scarred and dour. They knew him, an able man who had a good hand with the troops. They listened as he explained.
Beloved Pilgrim Page 26
