by Tony Roberts
One thing that mad priest had said did give him cause to think, though. What if the Crusade was indeed the prelude to the Second Coming? There were a lot of coincidental factors coming into play that could point to it. Jerusalem was always a big part of his Curse. He was convinced himself that one day it would end there, and every time he went there he hoped that maybe Jesus would appear, and finally end his years of torment. Nothing like the Crusade had happened before, and this was something to consider. A religious war directed at Jerusalem?
Maybe the priest wasn’t as mad as he looked, after all.
They resumed their journey two days later. Now the horrors of the trek through Anatolia began. The sun beat down pitilessly on the army as it snaked through the plateau, a waterless, barren place. They tried to keep to the old Roman roads but in many places they had all but gone, and the cisterns that had stood by the roadsides had been ruined by the Turks.
There had been two options at Dorylaeum, one to go east via Ancyra and into Lesser Armenia at Caesarea, or the other south-east on the Iconium road, eventually also ending up at Caesarea. The latter was the longer route but had more towns and so it was decided to go by that road. Also the Ancyra route was too close to other Turkish emirates that hadn’t had their military strength sapped by defeats at Nicaea and Dorylaeum. The Crusaders had learned the hard way to respect the fighting prowess of the Turks.
Tatikus kept Casca updated on matters discussed at the councils. Raymond wanted Casca out of the way, believing he was either a spy planted by Alexius, or was liaising with the Turks, having employed a Turkish spy quite openly. Tatikus also complained to Casca that the Crusaders were beginning to point the finger of blame for any mishap on his shoulders. They mistrusted the imperial troops and saw Alexius as duplicitous and untrustworthy. He also informed Casca that Raymond had fallen ill and there were fears that he could die.
As they struggled on through the hot summer, crawling towards their destination, the Turks kept on retreating. The towns and cities opened their gates to the advancing army, delighted that the Turkish garrisons had fled, and they all now hoped that this would mean a return to the days of being ruled by the Christian emperors of Constantinople. Tatikus left small garrisons at each place they reached, but couldn’t continue to do so for much longer, as it was reducing his small force to alarmingly tiny proportions.
Raymond’s illness was another worry. They stumbled into Iconium, once a populous and vibrant place, but now deserted and a shadow of its former self. The population had been forcibly removed by the Sultan and transported further east and sold into slavery, so Casca was told by a few frightened survivors who had taken to the hills surrounding the city. They recognized his apparel and insignia and came to him rather than the Crusader leaders who, tired and exhausted, saw this as another piece of proof that they were being treated unfairly.
They informed Casca that the valley was fertile and food was abundant, and the word was passed on and the Crusaders gratefully availed themselves of the fruits and produce of the surrounding area.
Raymond sent for Casca. Bishop Adhemar brought the urgent message personally, something which surprised him on two points. Firstly, bishops didn’t normally act as messengers and secondly Raymond had given Casca the cold shoulder over the recent weeks.
Adhemar stood anxiously before Casca, almost imploring him to hurry. “I fear the Count may not have long to live,” he said. “I beg you to hurry. The Bishop of Orange, one of my esteemed fellow members of the Church, had given him extreme unction.”
Casca felt a cold shiver run across his shoulders and down his back. One of the catholic seven sacraments, this was given to those dying so that their souls were purified before going to face God. “Do you know what it is he wishes to see me about?”
“Yes.” Adhemar looked meaningfully at Mehmet, standing at the back of the room.
Casca caught on. “Oh, don’t worry about him; he doesn’t understand a word that we’re saying. He speaks only Arabic and Turkish.”
“Hmmm…very well.” He also addressed Giselle, sat next to Casca. “I believe it is time to test the relic once more. If it is as effective as you have said in curing your wound, then perhaps it can help save the life of the count.”
Casca now realized why Adhemar had been sent by Raymond. “Ah. Very well, I cannot see why not. Giselle?”
The woman nodded. Count Raymond was nobility and therefore was valuable. She understood his importance to the Provencal contingent. If he died, his faction might break up and disperse. Then they would have to risk traveling on in Godfrey’s or even Bohemond’s armies, something neither Casca or Giselle wished for.
Casca got up and beckoned Mehmet to him. “We’re going to visit the count for a while. Look after this place,” he waved at the house they had appropriated on their arrival, “and make sure nobody sneaks in. I don’t trust these people fully.”
He’d spoken in Turkish to Mehmet; there was a chance Adhemar may have learned some Arabic, but Turkish was much more unlikely to have been even heard by the bishop previously.
“Neither do I, effendi,” Mehmet grinned. “I shall guard this abode with my life.”
Casca looked at Mehmet for a moment. He’d used a word Casca had never heard before, but it was so similar to the Greek afendis, which was a title of respect, that Casca guessed meant the same thing. Perhaps twenty years or more of the Turks living in former imperial lands had given them a few new words. “We won’t be too long. Perhaps you can cook up another excellent meal such as you did back in Dorylaeum?”
Mehmet bowed, flashing his imperfect teeth. It just didn’t have the same effect that it did with darker skinned people. Casca grinned and went to the door. Adhemar was waiting, his whole posture one of agitation. Giselle came from the bedroom, carrying a roll of cloth. It was clear what was underneath it, but she didn’t want Mehmet or anyone outside to see what it was.
They walked down the street, passing a few soldiers and other members of the Crusade. Adhemar got all the bows and greetings while Casca was ignored. A few of the men gave Giselle an admiring look before they went on their way. The presence of the bishop forestalled any possible leering or comments, which was just as well for them because Casca may well have broken their faces.
Raymond was in one of the big houses, inevitably, down by the river. On their way Adhemar engaged Casca in conversation, bringing him up to date with events. Casca knew most of them already thanks to Tatikus, but Adhemar was just trying to be friendly.
“I hear your compatriot isn’t going to garrison this city,” the bishop was saying as they trekked downhill towards the more affluent quarter, stepping round the piles of dung left by the horses and oxen. “After doing so for the other places I’m surprised he’s leaving Iconium open for the enemy.”
Casca considered this for a moment. “It makes sense,” he said. “Why garrison a ghost city? There’s nobody here to guard. Nobody to produce any food, or repair weapons, provide the upkeep for the buildings, administer the place. It’d need a big garrison anyway, and Tatikus doesn’t have the men spare to do that.”
“It would leave a large city behind us to be occupied by the infidels, and that would sever our communications with the emperor,” Adhemar pointed out.
“True, but that risk was always there. Sooner or later we’d run out of men to garrison every place we liberated, and the further we go, the nearer to the true heartland of Turkish power we get.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Casca pointed to the east. “The Seljuks came from the east. They run Baghdad today. I’ve been there and seen it for myself. Their domain extends far and wide, and they rule through lesser emirs who are supposed to show fealty to the Seljuk sultan. Of course,” Casca grinned, “they more or less rule as sultans themselves over their domain, and extend it as far as they can.”
“But who do they bow to? We have the king of Francia as the ultimate overlord, and through him Count Raymond rules the south of that ki
ngdom. Everyone knows who rules what.”
Casca shrugged. “Nominally it’s the same, but in practice they try to run their little emirate as they see fit. It’s usually when faced with a larger military force that they submit, then revert once their overlord returns home.”
“They sound disunited,” Adhemar observed.
“Yes, and that’s your best bet for a successful campaign. Keep them fractured and in disarray and they can’t unite against you. Look what happened after Nicaea.” Casca gestured emphatically. “The sultan Kilich Arslan brought along his vassal the Danishmend amir to reinforce his army. That was where he was, by the way, when we arrived outside that city. He was showing him who was boss. So he comes back with his unwilling vassal and then loses the battle. The Danishmend amir then goes back home and throws off vassalage since the sultan can no longer enforce his dominance over him by force.”
“You have a very detailed knowledge of the infidels,” Adhemar commented.
“I got much of it from Mehmet,” Casca said, “but as I’ve said already, I was their prisoner for six years so I have better knowledge of them than anyone here.”
“You should be on the council,” Adhemar said. “We need people such as you.”
“I’m not liked by Bohemond and Raymond isn’t too keen one me either, Bishop. As for the other leaders, I guess their attitude is that I’m not one of them and that I work for the emperor and am as a result suspect.”
Adhemar snorted. “I have seen the same attitude amongst the clergy,” he admitted. “This should be a union of all Christians against the heretical foe. If we fight amongst ourselves then, well, we end up like your picture of the Muslims.”
Casca put his arm round Giselle’s waist and pulled her close to him. She smiled up at him. He squeezed her gently. “Bishop, you have no idea how much your words hearten me. To hear a member of the Church come out with that piece of common sense is such a welcome change.”
Adhemar grunted. “Best not to go spreading the word that I think that, Baron. I have influence over the others, yes, but if I started championing the togetherness of Catholic and Orthodox people, I’d be faced with calls for my excommunication.”
“Worry not, Bishop, I’m not going to cause any problems on that account. There’s enough as it is.” They approached Raymond’s house and were allowed in by the guards after a brief check. They wanted to see what was under the cloth in Giselle’s hands but Adhemar scowled and commanded they be let in. The guards hastily complied, not wishing to incur divine displeasure.
They were shown upstairs, into a room with cloths drawn over the single window that overlooked the river. A breeze sent occasional puffs of wind at the cloths that danced to their tune, but other than that were was very little that stirred. Kneeling by the side of the bed was Elvira, Raymond’s Spanish wife, and she looked up in relief as Adhemar came forward.
Casca held Giselle back for the moment, waiting. He looked at the count, lying in the bed. He was pale, thin and listless. The fever that gripped him had a good hold. Casca wasn’t surprised; too many people in this part of the world died from such illnesses. The heat of summer and the flies, insects and unsanitary conditions that many people traveled in all contributed to many falling sick.
What Raymond needed was rest, comfort, water and cleanliness. He also had his wife tending him and that would help in a huge way.
After a brief discussion Adhemar turned and gestured for the two to come forward. “Allow me to introduce the Lady Elvira, Princess of Aragon and Countess of Toulouse.”
Casca bowed low. “Ma’am. Caska Longios, Strategos of the Roman Empire and Baron of Stokeham in the Kingdom of England.”
“You are welcome, Baron,” she said in a soft, husky voice with that flavor of the Iberian Peninsula in her words. “And this is?”
Giselle curtseyed low. “My Lady, I am Giselle de Doumanche. My late husband was of the nobility of Soissons.”
Elvira acknowledged her. “I understand from the Bishop here that you may have a cure for my husband?”
Casca stepped away slightly from Giselle. “That is true. A relic of a man who could well become a saint. We are taking it to Jerusalem.”
Elvira sat in a chair, her hands on her lap. Even though she sat still, Casca could see she was extremely worried. “Ordinarily I would not agree to using my darling husband as a test for something that has not been proven, but I am desperate, as you can see.” She looked over at the harshly breathing count who was asleep. He was bathed in sweat.
“Giselle, as you did with my wound,” Casca said gently.
“I-I’m not sure where I should….”
Adhemar smiled kindly. “My child, God works through His saints in ways we cannot understand, nor should we try. I’m sure that by resting the Finger on his forehead for a moment will suffice. It is in God’s hands, not yours or mine. I can but pray and beseech our Lord to save this man to do His work on this Crusade.”
“Very well, Father, I shall.” Giselle placed the box on the bed, passed the cloth to Casca and opened the lid. She got out the wrapped Finger and exposed the tip, placing it on the count’s forehead. He groaned in his sleep and moved, and the Finger threatened to roll off down his face. Casca suppressed a smile. Not a time for levity. He wanted Raymond alive, as much as a counter to Bohemond as any other reason.
The Finger repositioned, Giselle stood back for a moment. Adhemar knelt by the bedside and began to pray, half under his breath. Casca glanced at the two women. They bowed their heads in prayer, too. Casca sighed and bowed. What he had to do to keep up appearances. Having been forcefully inducted into both Christianity and Islam in the past, he had no love for either. Religion was a pain in the ass to him.
Raymond would either die or live, no matter whether the relic was used or not. He stood a better chance of recovery here than out in the countryside. He had a fever. A few days here and it should break. If it did, then he would be fine. If he did recover, then the relic would be seen as genuine. Then the trouble would start. The northern Franks would object and dispute the ‘miracles’. It could well set the Crusaders against one another, with all the potential disasters that came with it.
Casca took Adhemar aside once the prayers were done with and the relic returned to its box, and had a quiet word with the bishop. He pointed out his fears for unity and urged for silence on the matter. Best to leave such news of miracles until they reached Jerusalem and then decide as to what to do.
Adhemar concurred. He didn’t want trouble en route, and as Pope Urban’s personal representative, he was more determined than most to ensure a victorious campaign. The relic would continue to be concealed from the rest of the people and only revealed once Jerusalem had been won and the rule of the Cross restored.
Casca returned to the house with Giselle. He spoke to her at length on their journey back. He told of the barren wildernesses to come, of the mountains they would have to cross, of the terrible conditions they were likely to encounter. September was known as the worst month weather-wise in the mountains ahead, and they were due to arrive there precisely at that time.
“But God will protect us, Caska, won’t he?”
Casca shrugged. “It may be difficult to say. We’ll see.” Personally he thought they were a month too late into the campaigning season. They would also have to take Antioch before they could continue into Syria, and Antioch was a massive fortress. He feared for the Crusade.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The rains came and the Crusaders suffered. The journey from Iconium became a nightmare. They had fully restocked their supplies and their wounded recovered in the valley by Iconium, and even Raymond had recovered, much to everyone’s surprise. Casca guessed it was the care and attention as well as the surroundings that was responsible, but Adhemar was now convinced the relic had been the deciding factor. Giselle was, too, of the opinion Syagrius’ finger had the saintly power of healing, and she spent some time discussing it with Adhemar who visited Casca’s house in Ico
nium frequently.
Raymond expressed his gratitude for his healing, and was torn between accepting the evidence Adhemar was putting together and being held honor-bound to Casca and his woman who were being regarded now as relic-keepers. Casca grumbled about superstitious beliefs and directed Mehmet to keep a special watch on the relic when he wasn’t there, having now decided to trust the man enough with the knowledge it was a valuable possession. Raymond was finally forced to co-opt the scarred mercenary onto his councils as a mark of respect for his rising reputation amongst the other nobles, as well as Adhemar’s insistence that he was part of the Council.
Some locals who came into camp just before the army resumed their march told the leaders that they would have to take enough water with them to last until they got to the valley of Heraclea. It was there that some Turks had been finally spotted and chased off, and the city had been allowed to fall into the Crusaders’ hands. Raymond had got stronger as the journey had progressed and at a council where Casca was invited, a full-scale argument had broken out as to where they were to go next.
Casca recalled the bitter words that had been spoken at that meeting. Accusations had been thrown back and forth with Raymond and Bohemond almost at each other’s throat, and Tatikus being blamed for almost every ill that had befallen the campaign. Hopes had been for the emperor to follow in their wake but it appeared that he was doing nothing of the sort and cowardice and treachery were some of the nicer words that had been used.
Ultimately there had been an argument as to the route to take to Antioch. There were two choices, and Tatikus had urged that the army follow the old military road to Caesarea and over the passes of the anti-Taurus Mountains whereas some of the leaders had pressed to take the shorter route into Cilicia, far to the south of the road Tatikus had proposed. The imperial party had protested at this. They had pointed out that this route meant anyone traveling that way had to cross the Cilician Gates, a huge pass that could easily be blocked, and Cilicia was in Turkish hands. On the other hand, the anti-Taurus were held by Armenians who were still subject to the emperor and in addition were Christian.
