Beloved Pilgrim

by Christopher Hawthorne Moss

  “Our best hope is to get word to Raymond and the other commanders that we are trapped here. With the heathens all about us, we cannot simply break out. A small force could sneak out. They would have to slip out in the dark and separate, so that at least one might get through.” He grimaced. “You will have to listen for the others’ cries to know where the path is the safest.”

  Ranulf laughed shortly. “By guessing where the others have met their deaths and where no one is dead… yet?”

  Conrad and Friedrich answered with grim faces.

  Albrecht spoke up. “My lord, I will go, but I do not think you need to sacrifice Elias or the mercenaries. Their skills are too well utilized elsewhere. Cannot I take a small force of the infantry, maybe an archer, to make it out and to the larger village?”

  Elias started to protest but bit his tongue. What Albrecht said made sense. He glanced at Ranulf, who was looking at Thomas, who had held his crossbow up to show he was an archer. Ranulf’s look was resigned.

  Conrad looked at Friedrich with one eyebrow lifted. “That sounds sensible to me. Can you select some of your men who are light of foot and see well in the dark?” Receiving the officer’s nod, he turned back to the five companions. “All right, you, squire, and the crossbowman, go with Friedrich. But the rest of you stand by. We may need to send a second party.”

  Outside the hut, Leif walked up to Ranulf, fuming. “You are just going to let Thomas walk out of here to his death?” he demanded.

  Ranulf put his hands on his hips and glared back at the Dane. “Can you think of anyone better than Thomas to fill the need?”

  Thomas put a hand on Leif’s shoulder and shook his head. The Dane stared into his eyes, then turned and stormed away.

  Elias hardly noticed the exchange, so focused was he on Albrecht. “That was very brave and admirable of you.” His voice held a tinge of sarcasm.

  Albrecht stopped in his tracks and turned to face him. “You would do the same, if I hadn’t beaten you to it.”

  His jaw tight, Elias tried to come up with an answer to that. Albrecht’s eyes blazed at him. “I… I…,” he stammered.

  “You know I am right.”

  With a deep sigh, Elias let his shoulders drop. He tried to speak so no one would overhear. “I can’t lose you, Albrecht.”

  Albrecht’s lips twitched, and he pressed them hard together. He nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You will be all right. Now, I have to go.” He looked to where Thomas walked away with Friedrich and hurried toward them.

  Elias looked over at the setting sun. He could not see anything but its glow as unwanted tears obscured his vision.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Overwhelming Odds

  ELIAS DID not see Albrecht or Thomas again that night. The two, along with four foot soldiers, slipped out of a hole in the wall made by kicking out the sticks that bolstered the hardened mud. They had found some black garments on a drying line between the houses and tore them into wide strips, then wound and tied them around their helms, swords, and wherever their mail or other armor might reflect the thin light of the moon or an enemy campfire.

  Sleepless, Elias and Ranulf heard the first cry. They glanced at each other, anxiety written all over their faces. Elias made the sign of the cross as Ranulf jumped to his feet and ran off in the direction of the main gate.

  Elias stood and walked more slowly in the same direction. He felt chilled all over. His knees and elbows seemed stiff and uncooperative. Ranulf and Leif, coming back, met him when he was no more than halfway there.

  “We don’t know.” Ranulf anticipated his questions.

  The sound of hoofbeats and shouts reached them from down the hillside. “I can’t bear it!” Elias cried, holding his head with both hands and gritting his teeth. Ranulf put his arm around his shoulders, and he and Leif returned to where they had been sitting just minutes before.

  They continued to hear sounds of rallying from the Turkish camp. First shouts, then horses’ hoofbeats, then more shouts and the sound of frenetic activity.

  Leif asked, “Getting ready to attack us or to chase the men?”

  Just then, a shout in German came from within their own camp. It was the call to positions, and the three grabbed cloaks and helms and ran to their stations. Hundreds of men gathered in ranks as best they could in the cramped spaces between the houses and waited.

  For such a company, the quiet was eerie. All strained to listen to what the Turks were engaged in. In a very short while, it was clear they were going away from, not toward, the village. Wide eyes looked out from each side of the nosepieces of their helms as they glanced at each other, fearing to believe, to hope.

  A hubbub began to grow as the outside sounds grew more distant. It was still hours to dawn when the command came at last to stand down. Few slept, waiting for what the morning would bring.

  Elias looked up as Black Beast and Gerhardt found him with the two mercenaries. Leif and the Beast bared their teeth at each other, but Ranulf only glowered. Looking about, Gerhardt was the one to ask, “Where’s your squire?”

  Elias indicated the south with his head. “Out there.” He did not have to explain what he meant. They knew instantly that he was part of the mission to get help.

  “Alone?” queried the Beast.

  Ranulf answered him. “No, our crossbowmen went with him, and there were four infantry on the mission as well. Friedrich’s men.”

  The Beast’s inquiring face looked blank.

  Gerhardt supplied, “The officer from Conrad’s own infantry squad.”

  “Uh,” he grunted.

  Elias and Ranulf suddenly found themselves summoned to Conrad’s billet. There they found the commander and Friedrich questioning one of the foot soldiers who had gone out with the party. He was telling his story.

  “There seemed to be few campfires, but we were not inclined to be overconfident. It was possible the Turks guessed what the pilgrims might try and had made the way difficult. Your squire,” he nodded to Elias, “split us up three different ways. It was hard going, the ground uneven and stones strewn everywhere, but mostly I tried to hear what was happening to the other men. You know that the hill was steep and the way treacherous with rocks, roots, and unexpected holes. I thought I heard either Albrecht or Thomas make a misstep but right himself. I couldn’t have seen them in the dark anyway, but I kept my eye on campfires I could see on the plain just past the foot of the hill.

  “Then all hell broke loose. I guess we tripped a picket, because I heard my mate scuffle with someone and then scream. I knew I was done for, so I veered off and ran like a rabbit away from that place. I meant to find my other fellows, but instead I found myself faced with Albrecht and the crossbowman. They looked like they had seen a ghost. I shouted my name to them, and they waved me to follow where they were going. When we reached the bank of the river, we stopped.

  “Albrecht said we had to find horses. I started to look for where the Turks had tied theirs, when that fellow—Thomas—he made a sign to wait and took off. The squire and me, we crouched down low to see what would happen. All at once, we heard a shout, followed by many more men shouting, and heard a horse coming toward us at a gallop. Albrecht said, ‘I wish he would talk so we could know for sure it’s him.’ I didn’t know what he meant. The man on the horse reached down with his arm, and Albrecht grasped it as it came near him and swung himself up on the horse’s back behind the man. I couldn’t keep up, and besides, where would I sit? So I just ran off and hid. And now I’m here.”

  Ranulf asked, “Then they got away?”

  “I am not sure,” the man answered. “I got down out of sight just as a pack of archers rode by, firing in the direction our two men had ridden. They could be away, or they could be lying in the dirt like my mate was.” He looked miserably down at the cup of water he held.

  The mercenary captain said as he and Elias left the hut, “I guess we just wait and see.”

  Elias nodded numbly.

  The remainder
of the night seemed to last several days. One of the majority who stayed awake was the constable himself. At first light, he sent scouts out to assess the situation and, if possible, to bring water from the river. These men came back without the water but talking excitedly all at once.

  The Turks were gone from around the village. The scouts had surprised some villagers who were searching their hastily abandoned campsites. They scampered away when they were discovered, leaving the bodies of three men lying where it was obvious many men had camped. The fires were covered with sand and dirt, but the signs of men and horses milling about showed in trampled grass and churned-up earth. The three bodies were lying twisted and mutilated. One of the men may have lived long enough to be tortured, though no one had heard the sounds that the treatment should have made. The corpses were fetched into the village.

  Leif came back from forcing his way in to the crowd about the bodies. “It’s not them. I know Thomas’s clothing and no one is Albrecht’s coloring.”

  “Could you not tell from their faces who they were?” Elias demanded.

  Leif fixed him with an angry stare. “What faces?” was his reply.

  Conrad allowed his men to hoist the three bodies onto horses, but then commanded the party of remaining knights, shield men, and infantry to head out of the village to return to the main camp. While the men got ready to leave, a couple dozen were sent to the river to fill the waterskins brought back empty by the first party.

  As they rode and walked down the hill, Elias looked for any sign of Albrecht. He was shocked to see a pile of bodies some way downwind of where the Turks’ main camp had been. They were burning, a collective funeral pyre, and he could tell the pile had been burning for some time. The occasional breeze sent the choking smell in the direction of the crusaders, and Elias could not bring himself to ride closer to see if Albrecht or Thomas could be found.

  He pulled his gaze away and caught Ranulf’s eye. “Our dead from last night? When we first got here?”

  Ranulf shrugged.

  The quick pace Conrad set kept the mass of men awake and alert where their exhaustion and foreboding might have dulled them into torpor. The sounds of battle began to waft to them in bits and pieces, and soon they could see the mass of Turkish horsemen this side of the pilgrim camp.

  “Danishmend archers,” someone shouted. The horsemen were riding away from Conrad’s company and veering away from the walls of the town after loosing the customary hundreds of arrows and riding away. It felt strange to watch it all from a distance, behind the attackers.

  Elias looked to where Conrad had paused and was watching the onslaught. From beside him, he heard Black Beast moan, “The fools. They came out of the walls!”

  Indeed, Elias could just see that the crusaders were no longer inside the town. They were lined up in formation around a little, stony hill about a mile around, meeting the waves of archers as they rode up, loosed arrows, and rode away. They were in the familiar shield walls, but stationary, in a far more familiar formation to Europeans. He peered through the eyeholes of his helm for the banners he would recognize among the pilgrims. There was Toulouse’s red banner with its stylized gold cross, Burgundy’s bars on red, Blois’s silver-and-gold bars on blue, and the others.

  “Conrad’s company trotted west about five miles along a nearly level but winding road above the plains and along the base of the mountains. About a mile from the European lines, they veered south down a wide but shallow ridge that flared from the side of the mountains to come behind the sweep of the Danishmend archers. Conrad’s progress brought them to a point that allowed some elevated observation of the battle taking place before them. What Elias saw spread before him all around the half-mile-round stony hill were tight formations of the different armies. The sun was halfway between dawn and midday. The heat was increasing, but he did not feel it. He was too completely caught by the death struggle before him.

  The ranks of knights and infantry of the pilgrims seemed immobile. They stood or sat on their mounts, shields raised, letting the thousands of archers swoop, shoot, and ride away. It was clear they had come out of the village expecting to engage the Turks in battle, but there was no foe to engage. It was more like trying to swat deadly insects. So they stood, circling the hill and its ridges, surrounding its little spring-fed pond where the holy men and women cared for the ever-growing number of wounded as the Turks rode up to them and shot, only to ride down and away, again and again.

  Conrad seemed to be waiting for something. Heads turned to watch him, the men expecting to be thrown into the melee. Elias wondered if he had a reason to hold back, and if it was an honorable one.

  He saw him speak to several of his commanders, then face the battle again and start to raise his arm to order the charge. Several men, some on horseback and several on foot, anticipated the gesture and went forward on impulse. Elias saw that one of those on foot had the helm of the Danes, and realized it was Leif. He imagined he could hear his battle cry and the core of murderous anger in it.

  Already turning and riding toward them, one company of Turkish archers on horseback screamed their battle cry. Arrows caught many of the men from Conrad’s force as they hurried to meet them. Some of the men and knights made their way to the mounted archers and started to slash and spear their way through them. It was hard to see from this distance, but Elias fancied he saw the Dane’s helm pierce and become enveloped in the ranks of the horsemen.

  It was then Conrad shouted them forward. “Deus lo volt!” he screamed. Elias was startled. He had almost forgotten the crusaders’ war cry.

  The scene Elias and his companions raced toward was for the first time actual battle. The mounted archers were not allowed to sweep by and then away. The group that had rushed forward engaged them, knights on horseback and others, like Leif, on foot. While mounted archers continued to swoop in and let loose arrows from a distance, these archers found themselves facing spears, axes, and swords, with nowhere to run.

  Many dropped their bows and drew swords with curved blades. The casualties on both sides started to accumulate under the horses’ hooves almost instantly. Elias saw horses lacking riders, both the small, fleet Turkish animals and the big, heavy destriers, suddenly come out of the raging battle and run away. The rest roiled about, making it impossible to see how the melee was going.

  Before his attention snapped to the battle he was about to enter, he sensed a sudden change of the scene nearer the hill. The Lombard knights, including Guibert and Montebello, were breaking and running. The rain of arrows by the thousands of Turks had become too much. Seeing the Lombards desert, the Pecheneg looked to General Tzitas. He made some sort of signal, and the entire Pecheneg force followed the Lombard knights, who had turned into the mountains after skirting Raymond’s position.

  The combined mass of deserting knights broke easily through the bands of swooping archers and headed northwest along the lower ridges of the mountains, away from Conrad’s little force. A few Turks started to chase after them but were called back to finish the battle before the hill.

  Raymond, the hero of Antioch, who had been positioned on the peak of the stony hill between the Lombards and the Pecheneg, suddenly found himself and his own household knights alone with no defense to their flanks.

  One of the Turkish commanders saw the knights looking about in panic and whooped. He led his men directly uphill toward them.

  One of Raymond’s knights shouted, “Over here!” Without stopping to see where he directed, Raymond and his knights wheeled and rode to a small spur, really just a rocky outcrop on which they could form a smaller circle. They reached it and spurred their destriers onto it just in time to avoid being overrun by the Turks, who instead started to circle the outcrop to shoot up at the knights on their stony platform. Raymond and his men huddled behind shields on their perch, praying one of the other commanders had seen what had happened and would come to rescue them.

  Burgundy, though beleaguered on his side, had seen the whole fiasco.
He shouted to Blois, and the two brought their knights and many infantry from the northwestern flank of the original circle around the pond to rescue Raymond and his men. The Turkish horsemen, unprepared to face the enemy on two sides, veered away and rode off onto the plain southward. Raymond and his knights were able to ride off the outcrop and rejoin the European forces.

  They were now the whole of the Christian force, or so they thought until one of Raymond’s knights shouted and waved his arms. Toulouse looked over to where he could see some melee breaking up to the east. Danishmend archers were riding away, but it appeared their numbers were severely reduced.

  From his position, Elias watched first the Lombard knights and then the entire band of Pecheneg turn and ride away. He scowled, wondering if Count Raymond was with them, but had to pull his attention away to meet a slashing blow from a Danishmend sword.

  The riders guided Elias and Gauner into the melee on either side of them. As they charged forward, his lance buried itself in a surprised-looking archer, who was lifted from his saddle and then lost from sight as Gauner kicked, crippled, and ran over his horse, leaping over it to land on the fallen rider and splatter him into the ground. A spear point came at Elias out of the swirling dust, and he knocked it aside with his shield as he dropped the reins over the pommel and let Gauner’s training carry him forward. The lance was ripped from his hands by the falling Turkish horse. He drew his sword and swung it up into the face of the Turk on his right, knocking him off his mount. He swung it back over Gauner’s outstretched neck to slice halfway through the spearman’s head as they passed.

  The line of knights continued their charge through the horde of light Turkish horse archers like a hot knife through butter, closely followed by the second line of knights, who filled the gaps in front of them as those in the first row fell or separated. The German horses all fought like Gauner, as they had been taught, to crush through opposing horses and men. A thousand Turkish archers were in the mob, trapped between the crusaders on the hill and Conrad’s charging, well-ordered knights. These knights were followed by footmen who ran behind to finish off the fallen enemy and rescue fallen comrades.