‘Whatever happened to her is past, now,’ Luca says. ‘When we reach the others, they may have more news.’
From the expression on his face, I can tell this thought is no real consolation.
For two sevennights, I ride behind Luca, holding his waist tightly at first but gradually trusting the charger’s steady gait.
Most of our journey is in silence. In the evenings, although the others look at me and make jokes, they seem to respect me. I am, they believe, a nun, a Bride of Christ. They are on Christ’s work. Yet I am no nun. I grow closer to Luca and my body begins to respond to his. I wonder if this desire that ripples through me is from Heaven or from Hell. From Heaven, it must be. The demons on Luca’s ivory horn don’t even have the body parts to satisfy such a need. Whereas I simply lack the words, or courage, to express it.
We move further and further from my mother, into countryside flatter than I knew land could be, as though fairy towers and every other kind of hill and landform had been razored off.
Eventually we slow, near a vast body of water. I look around. ‘I didn’t know Nicea was beside the ocean.’
Luca laughs. ‘That’s not the ocean,’ he says. ‘You really haven’t travelled, have you?’
I feel myself colouring and rearrange my scarf around my face, hoping he won’t see. Ripples on the water remind me of wind-rippled sand, back in Cappadocia. ‘I’ve never had anywhere to go.’
‘We’re almost there,’ Luca murmurs. ‘This grassy country is called Bithynia. We’ll be back with the others within this sevennight. My quaint nun.’
That is what he has taken to calling me. He means the term with affection. I don’t know quite how to respond.
‘You remind me of St George,’ I say to Luca. ‘Off to slay the dragon.’
‘I’m not a hero,’ says Luca. ‘Heroes don’t deliver messages.’
A short while later, a knight yells, ‘Hey! Look up ahead!’
‘Come!’ says another.
Luca leaps off his horse and offers me a hand. His fingers, warm and trustworthy, encircle mine. I meet his eyes and the expression in them is kind—perhaps even a little remorseful.
‘That is the Askanian Lake,’ he says. ‘Further along, it guards one side of Nicea. Thick walls surround the other three sides.’
‘And that’s where your friends are? Outside the walls?’
‘Luca!’ a knight says. ‘Forget your ugly nun. Look over there!’
Along a road that winds through the dry hills and down to the lake, an extraordinary sight shimmers.
Long teams of oxen—many, many oxen—pull behind them wagons of a size I have never seen before. Each wagon is pulling a fully equipped…
‘Are those ships?’ I ask Luca.
His mouth is open in astonishment. He closes it as he nods.
‘You shouldn’t have laughed about the ocean,’ I say. ‘Your men are trying to sail over sand!’
The ship-carrying carts have nearly reached the lake’s distant shore. Some knights spur their horses, but Luca raises an arm and they pause.
‘The Princes have obviously planned something,’ he tells the others. ‘Nicea is protected on three sides by walls. Over water is the only way we can get through. We should stay here and see what they have planned.’
‘If we stay here we’ll miss it!’ Mattiolas complains.
‘I know.’ Luca looks pained. Orestes scratches at the ground, also impatient. ‘I don’t want to miss anything either. But we don’t want to make things difficult.’
‘Don’t we, by God!’ says Mattiolas.
‘No,’ said Luca. ‘Not for our brother pilgrims. I’m not suggesting we stay away from camp for long. Just until we see what’s going on.’
‘We know what’s going on,’ Mattiolas grumbles. ‘They’re preparing for battle and we’ll miss out!’
Luca peers at the carts and ships. ‘We need to find the colours of Raymond of Toulouse. He’ll be leading this.’
The other knights confer and soon begin to offload their horses for one more night away from the main camp. I stand beside Luca. In the distance, carts are pulled into the water, and the ropes that fastened ships to them are unknotted and pulled away.
We watch the ships sway onto the water. I hold my breath. It doesn’t seem possible that such massive objects could float. But, white sails unfurling like tunics hung out to dry, they glide away from the carts and the shore.
Luca sees me shiver. ‘You’re not used to cool air.’
‘We have snow in Cappadocia,’ I tell him. ‘But by evening I’m underground and warm.’
He moves closer to me, so his body blocks the breeze. His nearness thrills and frightens me. Is Luca aware of my warmth, the way my body tingles with the nearness of his? Or is he too absorbed in what’s happening down on the lake?
‘What are those shadows that fly above the ships?’
Luca turns to me, sharply. ‘You see shadows?’
I nod. The shadows are large and dark and fly above the high masts. ‘What are they?’
His teeth grind together. ‘I used to see such shadows.’
‘Used to?’
‘I see more than shadows now. It does no good to speak of it. Take my advice and don’t mention the shadows to anyone else.’ His fingers brush my hair as he speaks. Perhaps that sort of touch is normal where he comes from. It startles me. I enjoy it. Confused, I step away. He has a few days’ stubble, and blushes beneath it.
In the morning, the ships, each bearing several banners, set sail, causing a flurry of colour on the lake.
‘The banners are to fool Saracens. They’ll think we have more ships than we do,’ Luca surmises, watching.
He turns around. Orestes is bridled and ready to go. Mattiolas and the other knights have already mounted. They watch Luca impatiently.
Luca jumps onto his horse and reaches for my hand. ‘Are you ready for a ride?’ he asks. ‘Saracens will see those ships soon. They might as well spot us too.’
‘Thank Christ!’ shouts Mattiolas. ‘We might be there in time yet!’
CHAPTER 8
Twenty-four moons
THE ASKANIAN LAKE
Luca
I give Orestes free rein. Nearly two moons since my joust with Narlo, I’ve finally paid the price of my disgrace and can rejoin the pilgrimage. Wind whips past us. Suzan stiffens behind me, her hair blowing around her. But she soon relaxes. I hear her musical laugh and move closer.
Is she aware of how haunted I am? What she called shadows over the Askanian Lake I saw as huge demons circling like vultures, tethered to the ships’ masts.
It’s late afternoon when we near the valley camp. If the ships caused any excitement earlier, it’s spent.
‘My God.’ Mattiolas spots something and rides off the path, dismounting to inspect a large pile of refuse. He extracts a few bones, a femur and a rib or two, too long to have come from sheep or goats.
He throws them away in disgust. ‘We’re eating our horses now?’
Horrified, I give Orestes a firm pat. Horses mean more to us out here than gold. They aren’t simply methods of transport; they are our constant companions and allies.
‘It must have been that or starvation,’ I say.
Suzan looks pale. ‘Perhaps the horse was dying anyway.’
Angrily, Mattiolas kicks the refuse. ‘There are bones of more than one animal. When I find those responsible, I’ll…’
His words trail off. For a knight, there’s no worse punishment than losing his horse. Life in the siege camp must be worse than we feared.
We soon find other evidence to confirm how bad things are. Roadside, knights look bedraggled and disappointed as wolves after a failed hunt. Further on, children have abandoned their games and sit in the filth, moaning with hunger.
‘What’s happened here?’ I ask Mattiolas.
He shrugs and turns his horse around. ‘I’m off for news and wine.’
Suzan is tense in front of me. What can she make of thi
s?
We press further into camp. Thousands of tents are pitched so close together that dust lifted by Orestes’ hoofs threatens to cover them. I dismount and turn to help Suzan.
Her face is pale, her eyes full of wonder.
‘So many people!’ she says. ‘How will you find your own family?’
‘I know our banners. They show falcons.’ I point at the spot on the hill where Father’s tent is pitched. ‘De Falconi means of the falcon.’
‘Some people don’t have tents.’
I had hoped she’d be impressed by the red and gold banners. ‘Not everyone has a lot of money.’
She nods. ‘It’s the same in Cappadocia. I thought you’d all have tents, though. It’s easy to make a tent.’
‘Not if you can’t afford fabric.’
‘Where do these tentless people sleep?’
I point at the river, and a cluster of small fires. ‘The area around Father’s tent is mostly for nobles. The de Falconi family has lived in San Gimignano for…’
Suzan isn’t listening.
Seeing the pilgrimage through her eyes is like seeing it for the first time. I’ve never paid attention to where poorer people sleep. I mean, I knew they didn’t have tents. Many have only what they can carry—home-made spears and cheap daggers, limp waterskins, bits of food and cloaks for winter, all carried in bags made from old carpet. But there seemed nothing strange about that.
‘Everyone looks so unhappy!’ Suzan says.
‘You don’t need to worry about sleeping down there,’ I reassure her. ‘You can keep using my spare tent.’
She nods. Disappointed, I make my way to Bishop Adhemar’s pavilion. He doesn’t receive me himself but has advisors hear my information about the Goreme community’s siege preparation. I meet Father outside the pavilion, deep in discussion with another Tuscan noble.
‘We’ll talk tonight,’ he promises me.
Mattiolas approaches, his face red with fury, waiting to walk to our tents.
‘Have you heard?’ he demands.
I shake my head. Suzan stands beside him, looking confused.
‘Bloody Emperor Alexios betrayed us! He did a deal with the Saracens! Can you believe it?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘This morning,’ Mattiolas continues, ‘the Princes began sailing their attack ships across the lake. But the Emperor’s flag was already flying over Nicea! Alexios is a liar! He’s a thief! Keeping an entire city to himself, when we came all this way!’
Suzan frowns. ‘Isn’t avoiding battle a good thing?’
Mattiolas snorts and kicks furiously at pebbles. ‘Spoils of battle are how we get paid, Suzan. Alexios robbed us.’
Suzan still doesn’t understand. ‘Luca told me you came to rescue Jerusalem?’
‘We didn’t come to do it for free!’
We walk on. Suzan attracts little attention. But she watches other young women, noticing how they dress. All she owns in the world is in her small basket. I look down at it, swinging in her hand, and catch Mattiolas’s glance.
After vespers, we light a fire and prepare an evening meal, pushing freshly hunted pieces of meat onto skewers, ready for the fire.
‘Is there any stuff we should get for you?’ Mattiolas asks Suzan. He has no inhibitions.
Suzan looks at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know. Women’s things. Clothes. Is there anything you need?’
Suzan smiles. ‘Thank you for thinking of me.’
I wish I’d been the one to do that thinking, and have another idea. I unclip a leather bag from Orestes’ saddle and fasten it to a belt that can be slung across Suzan’s shoulders. ‘Your basket isn’t practical for riding. Use this instead.’
Suzan looks dubious, but soon realises this is a simpler arrangement. She lets me move her basket to one of our carts and wears the pouch strapped to her back, her santur securely inside.
After our evening meal, the pilgrims who brought musical instruments sing sad, lethargic songs. Suzan joins me for a walk around the camp.
Near the the area where the Princes have camped, a grand pavilion, made of silver silk, is fastened to the ground with golden chains. There’s a queue outside and raucous laughter within. Percy, the bronze-eyed knight I met in St Sophia, welcomes people at the entrance.
I nod to him as I pass. ‘You have a lot of friends.’
He nods back. ‘I have a lot of money. And sufficient wine.’
‘You’re offering wine, not food?’
‘Wine is more fun.’
Much later, when the campfires have faded enough for many stars to be visible in the sky, Suzan retires to the small tent I’ve lent her, and Mattiolas goes off drinking. Our family banner flies high above the tent where I go to talk to Father. He’s been at a day-long Princes’ Council meeting.
His vassal knights are camped nearby. Sir Bottiglio meets me outside. ‘We leave in the morning,’ he tells me. I’ve never seen him look thin before. ‘We need to get away from this fiasco before morale gets even worse.’
Father has a camp chair brought out so I can sit beside him while he repairs links in his chainmail. He shakes his head when I mention Alexios’s betrayal. ‘It’s all the Princes will talk about. But we have to get on with our larger plans. We didn’t join this pilgrimage to capture Nicea.’
‘I heard a rumour about Serafina’s pilgrimage group.’
Father rests his chainmail neatly on the ground, and looks to the stars for advice before slowly replying, ‘I’ll be honest with you, Luca. The news isn’t good.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I spoke to a man who saw the Barone Santoro killed.’
Barone Santoro is Serafina’s father. I remember him throwing me up into the air as a child. An image comes to me of Serafina, blond hair shining behind her, running to be lifted up herself. Her father, dead. She loved him dearly. How she must be suffering!
‘And Serafina herself?’ I ask. ‘How is she? And her mother? Do you know?’
‘There’s bad news, Luca. They say young Christian women were taken hostage by Saracens…’
I look away. ‘Is there no hope?’
Eventually, Father says, ‘There’s always hope. As for us here, the Alexios deal has made the pilgrims angry.’
Father casts his eyes around the camp. This group has become an odd extended family. We have heard tales of suffering.
‘Our fellow knights haven’t acted well, either,’ Father continues. ‘I’m glad you weren’t here to see it.’
‘I’ve seen enough.’
Father points at the city walls. ‘One day a family of Saracens left the city through those gates,’ he says. ‘They surrendered to us. They requested food for their children. They were starving.’
‘They should not have been in a city that belongs to someone else,’ I begin.
‘The children?’ Father asks. ‘You find fault with them for remaining where they were born? You might as well blame Gemma for staying in the villa.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘Our men fired arrows at them.’
‘Perhaps the pilgrims misunderstood,’ I say. ‘Perhaps they thought they were being attacked.’
Father shakes his head. ‘They fired at unarmed Saracen women, Luca. They fired at innocent children. These good pilgrim knights cut those women’s heads off and hurled them back into the city.’
Father stares into the distance. All we see over the city walls are lights shining from minaret galleries, but life continues in there. During the day, there will be the familiar smells and sounds of men and women baking or blacksmithing or sewing. Dough rises, horseshoes clang, children laugh. Now, in the evening, families will have gathered in their homes, like in San Gimignano.
‘You’ve heard what Pope Urban says,’ I remind Father. ‘Saracens deserve to die. We do God’s work fighting them.’
Father says nothing.
‘That’s why Alexios did this deal,’ I say, insistently. ‘If
he hadn’t, the streets would be running with blood!’
‘I don’t agree with what Alexios did, Luca, but you’re right about the horrors of attack. Our men were maddened with hunger and greed. Had the gates opened to all of us at once, there would have been a massacre. The worst of Brother Bonaccorso’s fears. I’m glad you were spared that.’
We both sit in silence for a while, deep in thought.
‘I’m pleased to know your mission went well,’ Father says at last. ‘It’ll mean something for you in future if the Princes know you have valuable skills and can be trusted.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘We move on to Antioch,’ Father says.
‘They say we’ll be there within the sevennight,’ I begin.
‘I suspect three moons is more likely.’
‘You’re always pessimistic.’
‘Realistic.’
‘I’ll be there this time!’
‘I know, Luca. This is why I have such trouble sleeping. We can’t all be sent away on missions and come back with women of our own.’
He means Suzan, of course. ‘Suzan is not mine,’ I insist.
Father pats my leg. ‘Luca, I’m a man of the world. Anna need not know this, but before we married there were women I knew too. Your new friend is ugly enough. At least Serafina will know you could never have loved Suzan. Don’t worry, on that account at least.’
Ugly? I think of how other knights have laughed about her. I assumed they were only teasing. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than Suzan. But that isn’t the issue I need to discuss now.
‘Father,’ I say. It’s important to insist upon this. ‘Serafina is a much-loved friend of mine, but I don’t…’
Father’s hand squeezes my leg. ‘Don’t continue, Luca,’ he says. ‘I know the news looks grim. But there may be survivors in her group. All hope isn’t lost.’
I wake up late at night to rustling in my tent.
A faint smell reaches me. Floral, like the flowers Suzan picks when she can find them. And there’s another scent beneath it, one that reminds me of something or someone.
The Book of Whispers Page 11
