“You know I will help you. My only concern is for your welfare.”
“Thank you, Jacques. And you Jared, what say you?”
“I am eager to assist. Tell me what to do.”
“I am going to climb a tower wall, and you and Jacques are going to keep me safe.”
An hour prior to midnight, Ian, Jacques, and Jared entered Raymond’s tent. Ian, being anxious about his task, skipped the usual formalities and simply asked, “Sir, is the agreement written?”
“Yes, my son, and good evening to you.”
“I’m sorry sir. My enthusiasm overcomes me.”
“Please sit. Let’s go over the agreement so you don’t misrepresent me.”
Raymond handed the agreement to Ian, and the four of them sat on the tent floor cushions. Ian read the agreement aloud in Frankish and Turkish, observed the Papal seal at the bottom of the document, and looked up at Raymond.
Raymond said in his serious voice, but he was usually serious, “I could offer more, but unless there’s a need to do so, I’d rather not.”
“I think your offer is adequate, sir. May I take it now?”
“Yes. Even a few days of curtailing the siege will save many lives. God speed, my son.”
Ian bowed his way out of the tent with Jacques and Jared in tow. Without conversation, they mounted their horses and rode to the tower. When within sight of the tower, Ian halted their progress. “We’re early. I want to arrive after the guard starts his watch, so the previous guard is not aware of our interaction.”
Jacques and Jared nodded assent.
At one hour after midnight, Ian put on the broad leather belt with the two rings, with the short line attached and the apron containing the ‘fingernails.’ He inserted the lead mallet into the left side ring, and cinched up the belt.
Jacques said, “If he tries anything, dropping rocks, pouring hot oil, or whatever, I’ll personally put a crossbow bolt through his neck.”
Ian nodded his agreement and put on his kid gloves. Ian, Jacques, and Jared approached the tower and stood directly beneath. Ian shouted up, “Halloo.”
The watchman leaned over the parapet and replied, “Firuz here.”
Ian shouted, “I’m coming up. Stand back. We’re firing a grappling hook.”
Jacques pointed a crossbow with a hook arrow attached to a long line, and fired the arrow up at the parapet.
The watchman snagged the arrow hook out of the air by the attached rope and pulled it into the parapet. He attached the hook to the ironwork and gave the line two quick jerks to indicate it was secured. He called down to Ian in a low voice, “Your rope is secure.”
Ian strapped the quiver containing Raymond’s agreement around his shoulders and began scaling the wall. He found niches between the tower blocks in the darkness and placed the fingernails so that he could reuse them when they attacked the fortress.
Ian worried that the watchman, if he was bent on evil, might cut the hook rope causing him to fall to his death, so he unclipped the safety line from each previous fingernail and clipped it to the next fingernail as he worked his way up the wall.
Jacques kept close watch below in case something untoward happened at the base or the top of the tower. He held the crossbow at the ready to stop any attack on Ian in his vulnerable state. Jared held the hook rope steady.
When Ian arrived at the parapet, the watchman assisted him into the parapet and said, “Effendi, welcome. My name is Firuz.”
Ian replied in Turkish, “My name is Ian. I’ve come to offer gifts for your assistance in helping us enter the city. Can you read?”
“No, Ian bey.”
“I’ll read the agreement to you. This seal,” Ian indicated the Papal seal at the bottom of the parchment, “is my lord’s promise to you, if you keep our agreement.”
“Yes, Ian bey. I understand.”
Ian read the document word for word slowly in Turkish. “Do you agree to the terms?”
“Yes, Ian bey.”
“Some of my men will enter the city by the gate at the base of the tower. You must leave it unlocked for them. I’ll lead another group up the side of the tower. You must hook the rope on the turret wall so we can climb the tower. My men will not harm you. Once the fighting is over, you may leave with your treasure and land grant. We’ll begin after midnight tomorrow night. Can you make sure you’re the watchman during the midnight to dawn watch?”
“Yes, my watches, noon to supper and midnight to dawn. I’ll be here at your service, Ian bey.” Firuz bowed to Ian, took Ian’s hand in his, and kissed the back as a sign of obeisance.
Ian nodded assent, then used the hook rope, fingernails, and short rope for safety to lower himself hand under hand, to the ground where Jacques stood guard and Jared steadied the hook rope. When Ian was safely on the ground, Firuz unhooked the rope and let it drop back down.
“Is everything set?” Jacques asked.
“Yes, let’s report to Raymond.”
The next day Ian trained several of his most trusted knights how to climb the tower using the fingernails. During the training, two of them, fearing heights, declined climbing the tower and requested they enter the city via the gate with Jacques.
That night, just before midnight, Ian and Jacques stealthily led two groups to the wall beneath the tower. Jacques led the group that would enter the city via the gate, and Ian led the group that would climb the tower. Jared would hold the hook rope for the men climbing the tower. At one hour after midnight on the 3rd of June 1098, Jacques fired the grappling hook rope up at the parapet in the dark with a crossbow. Firuz caught the rope and hooked it to the turret wall.
Ian said, “It’s time.”
Jacques nodded assent and walked the wall until he found the gate in the dark and, with the aid of his men, pushed the unlocked metal gate open and waited for Ian’s signals.
When Ian reached the parapet, Firuz assisted him into the tower. Ian hoped his too brief instructions to his men on how to use the fingernails would be enough so none of them would fail due to fear or lack of skill. Once four of his men were safely standing in the tower, Ian whistled the attack signal.
The army exited the tree cover along the stream and crossed the field to the tower wall as quietly as possible. Once Ian saw that the bulk of the army was at the gate, he gave the second signal, two whistles, signaling them to be ready to enter the gate as fast as possible. Ian watched the army gather at the gate below and gave a third signal, three whistles, for the attack to begin. In the meantime, four more of Ian’s men had arrived safely in the parapet. Ian instructed his men not to harm Firuz. He also warned Firuz to stay out of the way once the battle began.
Jacques and his knights entered the city through the unlocked gate and attacked the sleeping residents with vengeance. They slaughtered as many as they could before the alarm sounded. Ian and his men ran from tower to tower and hacked all the other watchmen to death. Those not slaughtered outright woke to find dead and dying all around and screamed. Their screams filled the city like a Hell on earth. By dawn the streets were so filled with corpses they couldn’t be walked without stepping on the dead.
Ian and Jacques, battle-bloodied and weary, rested in the center courtyard and looked around at the carnage.
Jacques said, “If we didn’t have an arrangement with Firuz, I’d kill him for being such a traitor to his own people.”
Ian replied, “He served under duress, not by his own will, but he’ll live in infamy for all time, and well he should. He claims he has a wife and child in Constantinople where he learned to speak Frankish. We shall honor our bargain and put him out of the city to fend for himself. If his kindred discover him and take his life on his journey to Constantinople we can’t be held responsible.”
Raymond took up residence in the palace of the abdicated Emir, Yaghi-Siyan. The army rested and recuperated from the grueling ordeal of fighting their way from Nicea to Antioch, and the deprivations they suffered, including hunger. Raymond became despondent ov
er his son’s death due to a long sickness, and his wife’s subsequent angry return to France. While Raymond shut himself away from responsibility, the Saracens surrounded the city and put it under siege.
Soon thereafter, in late June 1098, Raymond became ill. Ian and Jacques carried out Raymond’s daily orders as his trusted aides, but the lack of food and water demoralized most of the Crusaders, many of whom already wished to return to their homes in France.
Fourteen
A peasant named Peter Bartholomew approached Ian and asked for an audience with Bishop Adhemar. Ian went to Raymond and informed him of the request. Raymond told Ian to screen the request and find out what the man wanted before bothering Adhemar.
Ian met with Peter again and asked him, “What do you want with Raymond and the Bishop? It had better be important.”
Peter replied, “Saint Andrew told me where the Holy Lance, the spear which pierced Jesus’ side as he hung on the cross, is to be found.”
Ian doubted that a deceased saint would appear to this scruffy peasant, but asked, “And where, pray tell, is the lance to be found?”
“I cannot tell you, sir, I can only tell the bishop and the count.”
“Then sir, you shall have no audience.” Ian gave Peter a look that said there was no alternative.
Peter replied, “Beneath the floor of St. Peter’s Cathedral here in Antioch.”
Ian felt that the man was either mad but sincere, or just plain mad. Relenting, he said, “I’ll give you audience with them, but keep your story short and respectful, or I’ll have your head.”
Peter acknowledged Ian’s stern warning with a nod.
As they entered the abdicated Emir’s throne room, Raymond and Adhemar were seated on two straight back chairs. Raymond, pale and gaunt, was holding audience with one of the barons who demanded Raymond send out a raiding party for food before his troops starved.
When Raymond spotted Ian approaching, he interrupted the baron’s strident demands, and said, “We will have a war council tomorrow and plan our approach to break the siege. You’re dismissed.”
The baron left the room with a scowl, grumbling about the lack of food and leadership.
“What’s on this young man’s mind?” Raymond asked Ian.
“His name is Peter. He claims St. Andrew visited him in a vision and told him where to find the Holy Lance, my lord.”
“And why would St. Andrew visit you, my son, instead of me, the Pope’s legate?” demanded Adhemar.
“I don’t know, sire. I’m but a humble servant of the Lord,” replied Peter.
“And where is this holy relic?” Raymond demanded.
“It’s under the floor of St. Peter’s here in Antioch,” Peter replied in a firm, steady voice.
“You wish us to dig up the floor of St. Peter’s on your word?” asked Raymond.
“No, sir, on the word of a saint,” Peter replied.
Raymond looked at Adhemar, and Adhemar returned the incredulous look. Raymond said, “If we do this and find nothing, what shall I do with you?”
“I’m willing to undergo a trial by fire, my lord.”
“You can recant your story now and be allowed to leave with only five lashes for bothering us with your unlikely story,” said Raymond.
“I wish to retain my story, my lord.”
“So be it,” said Adhemar.
Raymond said, “Ian, take this young man to St. Peter’s. Supervise the digging and do not let him commit any sacrilege to the church. Let us know what transpires, whether he finds the lance or not.”
“Yes, sire,” Ian bowed and led Peter out of the reception room.
Jacques accompanied Ian to the church and asked, “Are you really going to let this insane person dig up the floor?”
“It’s not my decision. I’m merely supervising the dig.”
Peter and one other peasant dug into the mosaic floor with a pick and a shovel. Peter seemed to know exactly where to dig. When they had dug a hole about four feet in diameter and three feet deep, Peter, wearing only a dirty tunic and short pants, jumped into the hole and cried out, “Here it is,” and held up a cylindrical piece of iron pointed at one end.
Peter’s pronouncement shocked the other digger, the observers, and Jacques and Ian.
Ian and Jacques led the sweaty, dirty Peter to Bishop Adhemar’s quarters and allowed Peter to hand the possible lance head to the Bishop.
Adhemar examined the lance skeptically, turning it repeatedly in his hands. “Let’s show this artifact to Raymond. Jacques, wait here with Peter. Ian, come with me. Raymond is still quite ill.”
Adhemar and Ian entered Raymond’s quarters where they found him lying half-awake on top of his malodorous bedclothes. The room stunk of sickness and musty neglect. Raymond had fallen into deeper despair since his wife returned to France, overcome with grief from the death of her son.
Adhemar said, “The peasant, Peter Bartholomew, has found this metal cylinder, which could have been a lance-head. How he knew this object was under the floor is beyond me. Whether it’s the Holy Lance head, or only a chunk of iron, I don’t know. What do you think?”
Raymond rose onto his elbow, examined the pointed iron cylinder, and said, “Could he have somehow hidden this to be found later, or was it found by chance?”
“Either he knew it was there or it was found by an amazing coincidence,” Ian said.
“Do our soldiers think it could be the lance?” Raymond asked. “If they did, it could boost the army’s morale at a time when we need a sign.”
“We can let it be a sign,” Adhemar replied with a sigh.
“Then let it be so. We have to break the siege we’re under. I’m too weak to lead the army, Tell Bohemond of Taranto that we have a sign that God wills us victory with instructions to attack the Saracens and break the siege.” Raymond lay back on a pillow and closed his eyes.
“I see the wisdom in your counsel,” Adhemar said.
Bohemond led the Crusaders out of Antioch on horseback and attacked the Saracens with such fury they ran as though they were escaping from starved, which they were, unreasoning madmen. Bohemond’s victory saved the Crusade, and although Raymond and Adhemar didn’t believe in its authenticity, Raymond kept the lance as a sign confirming the Crusade was His will.
A few days later, Peter Bartholomew approached Bishop Adhemar under Ian’s escort and said, “Many have doubts that I found the true lance. What am I to do?”
“You need do nothing, my son. The lance inspired our men to break the siege, and for this purpose alone it was a useful tool.”
“I volunteer for a trial by fire to prove my story.”
“Proof is not necessary my son. Let the results be enough.”
“I want to endure trial by fire on Good Friday, April 8th, the year of our Lord 1099 to prove my story.”
“As you desire. I’ll have my aides prepare the trial.”
Ian and Jacques directed several camp followers to build two massive piles of wood in Antioch’s main square. The piles were eight feet high, twenty feet long and only wide enough apart for a man to walk sideways between them.
Ian told Peter, “You don’t need to do this.”
Peter dressed in only a light tunic, replied, “I have to do this.”
Jacques said, “Don’t be a fool. You’ll die. There’s no need to prove your story. The siege is broken. Be content with your contribution to its success.”
“Light the fire.”
“Religious maniac,” Jacques almost spat the words. He lit the woodpiles with a torch.
When the woodpiles were full ablaze, Peter walked, lance in hand, through the inferno from one end to the other, making no outcry. Raymond had permitted Peter to carry the so-called lance with him as Peter had requested.
As Peter exited the far end of the fiery woodpiles, Ian and Jacques threw buckets of water on his burning tunic and skin. Peter fell unconscious to the ground. Ian and Jacques gently placed his badly burned body on a war litter covered wit
h a wetted down blanket and carried him off to the makeshift hospital set up in the departed Emir’s harem room.
Peter suffered almost two days of agony from his extensive burns.
Ian used all of his healing skills to keep him alive. He covered Peter’s body with moist cloths and the cloths with blankets in an attempt to keep him from going into shock. Ian tried to get him to drink as much water as possible to compensate for the burn-induced water loss. Ian begged Adhemar for a bottle of cognac from his private stash, and forced small swallows down Peter’s throat to anesthetize the pain.
Near the end of the second day, Peter whispered for Ian to approach. Ian placed his right ear next to Peter’s mouth. Peter whispered, “I saw what I saw and heard what I heard. What else was I to do?” and passed away with a single tear flowing down his cheek.
Ian’s stoicism grew with each new day of death and misery, but he wasn’t able to hold back his own tears. He hadn’t slept for most of the two days of Peter’s torturous demise and was relieved that Peter had finally died. Ian felt that either Peter was a delusional religious fanatic, or he had really seen St. Andrew, and St. Andrew had directed him to find the Holy Lance. He was too exhausted to care either way.
Fifteen
Ian had to get out of the city, so he spent the next two weeks with a small troop of knights gathering food from the already desolated countryside. Between the ravages of Peter the Hermit’s horde the previous year, and the demands of Raymond’s army, finding provisions for the army was more than challenging. Some of Ian’s troop wanted to forcibly take whatever food and supplies the local inhabitants possessed, but through force of personality, Ian restrained them, resulting in slim pickings for the knights, but staving off starvation for the peasants.
When Ian returned to Antioch, Jacques told him Adhemar was ill and was calling for Ian to heal him. Ian rushed to Adhemar’s bedside and examined him. Adhemar was hallucinating. He had a high fever, his abdomen hurt to be touched, and he had ‘rose spots’ on his abdomen and chest. Ian had read about this illness, typhoid, in his Book of Healing. The book described the symptoms, but the only suggested treatment was to hydrate the patient and provide as much rest as possible. Only the strong could survive typhoid, the elderly and the frail would not. Ian’s mother had indicated in a footnote that she thought unwashed food prepared with unwashed hands, or flyblow could be one cause of typhoid.
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