Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  So two days later we are setting out with generous provisions.

  They hadn’t gone far when they came to a large mill. A group of German knights dismounted and strode into the building. They emerged minutes later bearing several heavy sacks on their shoulders. They were pursued by an indignant miller, protesting the removal of his property. “You cannot take my grain,” the miller said in his language, gesticulating wildly.

  “Your commander has agreed we can have food,” came the reply in German.

  The miller appealed to the escort from Niš, his arms wide in supplication. “They cannot steal my grain. They have food aplenty already. See!”

  “You cannot take the grain,” the captain of the Niš escort confirmed, barring the way for the Germans, who promptly dropped the sacks and drew their swords.

  “We were guaranteed food,” they cried, shoving the indignant miller into the swift stream.

  The Norman contingent had been following close on the heels of the Germans and had at first watched this scene with a degree of ridicule. “Here we go again,” Caedmon said. “The German knights are never happy unless they’re fighting or arguing.”

  “You’re right, mon ami,” replied Amadour de Vignoles, who’d become Caedmon’s frequent traveling companion.

  The miller struggled to stay afloat.

  “Mon Dieu,” Amadour cried. “They’ll drown him over a few sacks of grain to which they’re not entitled. We were given enough supplies when we left Niš.”

  “Good, here comes Brother Peter,” Caedmon said with relief. “He’ll sort them out.”

  “It will be too late for the miller. That German coward is holding him underwater with his boot.”

  With two or three others, Caedmon and Amadour dismounted quickly and ran to the aid of the miller, shoving the belligerent German into the water. As Caedmon proffered his hand to the miller, he too was pushed into the swirling water and drawn to the mill-wheel. Though he couldn’t understand the miller’s language, he understood his desperation. Caedmon held him up, but he flailed his arms and panicked, pulling them both under. Caedmon recalled his fear when Agneta had struggled to pull him out of the river at Chester. He hadn’t drowned then, and he didn’t intend to drown now.

  “Stop struggling,” he spluttered. “Amadour—help me fish him out.”

  They managed to get the frantic Balkan out of the water. As the three men struggled up the slippery bank, the miller suddenly shouted, pointing to the mill.

  “Sacrebleu! They’ve set fire to the mill,” Amadour exclaimed.

  Caedmon swore under his breath. “Quick! Get him away from here, it’s going up like a torch. That wall will collapse soon, and we don’t want to be under it when it does.”

  “Attention, we must be careful. The soldiers from Niš have attacked the main group of crusaders. The cowardly Germans must have run back there.”

  They stood, panting heavily, watching in disbelief as the skirmish carried on down the road. Caedmon raked his hands through his wet hair, combing it back from his face. The poorly armed peasants were no match for the soldiers, panic soon set in and carnage resulted.

  “Get your horses and come with me,” cried the miller, gesturing to make them understand. He led them away from the burning mill, up and over a steep embankment into a copse, indicating they should stay hidden there. When he turned to leave, Caedmon grasped his sleeve. “Where are you going? Stay here with us. It’s too dangerous.”

  The miller looked into his eyes, smiled briefly, shrugged his shoulders, shook Caedmon’s hand, then Amadour’s, and left.

  They sat for an hour until the sounds of conflict abated.

  “Sounds to me like they’ve sent out the whole garrison. This is unbelievable,” Caedmon hissed. “I’m disillusioned with the whole idea of the Crusade. I’ve probably killed more men in my own defense while on this religious pilgrimage than I did at the great Battle of Alnwick. Too many lives lost through misunderstandings, stupidity and hatred, and we’re nowhere near Jerusalem yet.”

  Amadour nodded sadly. “I agree, but we have no choice now.”

  Ten thousand souls lost, because of an argument over grain. Amadour and I were lucky to survive. The miller we rescued is probably dead.

  We regrouped and soon reached Sofia where we met our Byzantine escort, which brought us safely the rest of the way to Constantinople.

  I pray Agneta is safe and well. She’s my talisman, an image I carry in my head. I’m convinced she has protected me, my guardian angel. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. My goal in life is to stay alive long enough to return to her and beg her to forgive me, for Bolton and for my sheer stupidity. She told me in Chester how foolhardy I was. She would scold me now if I told her I came close to drowning in Niš.

  I long to hear her laughter again.

  My other goal is to master the making of these cursed quills.

  It seemed to me the Byzantine emperor, Alexius Comnenus, was astounded at the size and composition of this huge unexpected army that descended upon Constantinople. He’d petitioned the Pope for a crusading army, but I don’t think this motley horde was what he had in mind. I suspect he didn’t know what to do with us, so he quickly ferried all thirty thousand souls across the Bosporus.

  Once in Asia Minor, we pillaged towns and villages on the way to Nicomedia. There, yet another argument broke out between the Germans and Italians on one side and the French on the other and I again saw the folly of divisiveness. The Germans and Italians have split off and elected a new leader, an Italian named Rainald. The French chose Geoffrey Burel, of all people, to take command. Many of us are not sure it’s a wise choice. But I must go with them.

  The French group reached the edge of Nicaea, a Turkish stronghold, where they pillaged the surrounds. It was a perilous plan, but they had to have food. Caedmon had adopted the Norman habit of shaving the back of his head to help cope with the heat and the lack of facilities for bathing.

  Lice are an ever-present scourge. As the ‘army’ has grown, conditions in the camps have deteriorated. The movement of the horde and horses stirs up enough dust to choke a man, and I wear rags across my face. The air is suffocating. Thirst is a constant problem. My skin is baked onto my bones.

  “Rumors are flying now about a group of six thousand Germans who captured Xerigordon from the Turks,” Amadour told him as they were sharing the raw root vegetables they’d dug up.

  Caedmon smirked. “I don’t believe anything about the Germans any more, not after Niš.”

  Amadour spat out some fibrous bit of food he couldn’t chew. “The counter-rumor has it the Turks recaptured the city from the Germans, who were forced to drink the blood of donkeys and their own urine when their water supply was cut. Some of the captured crusaders converted to Islam and were sent to Khorasan, while others who refused to abandon their faith were killed.”

  The rumors about Xerigordon are enough to make the hairs on the back of my head stand up—except I have no hair. I remember the first time I saw Agneta’s beautiful hair. It was very short! It’s a bittersweet memory. I ache for her, in my heart and my loins.

  I’ve had a recurring dream. I ride up to a castle. Agneta is there, but she’s been transformed into a tree—a beautiful lush green tree. She smiles at me as I approach, and then I hear a sound. It’s birdsong. I frown, not knowing where the sound comes from. Agneta slowly raises her arms and they become branches. I look up at the branches, and see two birds nesting.

  I wish I could fathom what the dream signifies. I asked a Romany, but all he was interested in was my coin. He mumbled something about the castle foretelling great wealth. That surely can’t be true. Maybe I didn’t understand his language properly.

  “They say now the brave Germans have taken Nicaea,” Amadour told Caedmon a few days later.

  Caedmon could see his friend was pale and had lost a lot of weight. He wondered about his own appearance. It was a long time since they’d eaten a good meal. “That rumor must have been started
by Turkish spies.”

  Amadour shifted wearily into the shade of the palm tree they sheltered beneath. “Maybe, but it has people excited to get there as soon as possible.”

  Caedmon absent-mindedly scratched a drawing of a tree in his dirt-smudged codex. “Aye, so they can share in the looting, no doubt.”

  “You’re probably right,” Amadour sighed. “The trouble is, Burel has popular support among the masses and he’s arguing it would be cowardly to wait. He wants to move against the Turks right away.”

  “He’s a hothead. The rumor can’t be true.”

  He glanced back at his codex. Next to the tree he drew two birds.

  We advised caution, but Burel’s will has prevailed. I have a feeling of foreboding about the whole enterprise. I’ve no faith in Burel and even less in the veracity of the rumor about the fall of Nicaea. Nevertheless, I can’t remain in the camp with the women and children.

  Pray for me, Agneta.

  On the morning of the twenty-first day of October, the crusading army of twenty thousand marched out toward Nicaea. Caedmon, Amadour, and several other Norman knights positioned themselves near the rear of the column. As they marched, they caught sight of a derelict fortification on a hill overlooking the water, about half a mile to the west.

  “If we’re attacked, make for the ruin over there. We might have a chance if we reach it,” Caedmon suggested.

  The others nodded in grim agreement.

  Three miles from the camp, the column entered a narrow, wooded valley near the village of Dracon.

  Caedmon felt uneasy.

  The other Normans were visibly nervous.

  “Burel doesn’t have enough power of command or common sense to have the army march quietly. We’re making too much noise as we approach the valley…”

  His words were interrupted by a hail of arrows.

  “Oli Crosse! As we suspected,” he cried. “The Turks have lain in wait for us here.”

  “The vanguard has already started to panic and retreat. They’re in full rout,” Amadour shouted. “We’ll be trampled if we don’t head for the ruin.”

  “They’re cutting down those fleeing back to camp,” Caedmon yelled. “Hopefully they won’t pay attention to the few making for the ruin.” He wheeled his horse and shouted to the main body. “The ruins.” He pointed the way with his sword. “It’s the only chance.”

  A few Turks broke away and pursued them up the hill to the ruined fort. Caedmon wheeled Abbot to face them. He lopped off the head of one Saracen, and the arm of another. Blood spurted over him. Screams of anguish filled the air.

  Alnwick.

  Satisfied that at least part of the main Crusader army had broken away in the direction of the ruin, he turned his horse and rode at full speed through the gate, praying some of the others might make it to the sanctuary. The Normans struggled to close the massive gates when the last of the fleeing crusaders had ridden in.

  “These gates are rotten, they won’t keep anyone out,” Amadour shouted desperately.

  His friend was right. “Pass the word,” Caedmon shouted. “Pile up as many shields as we can.”

  The wall of shields rose rapidly as panicked knights rushed to throw anything they could find at the gap.

  “Bring rocks too,” another knight shouted.

  After terrifying minutes, the group of Turks who had pursued them drew back under the barrage of slingshots, lance blows and arrows from the desperate Crusaders.

  “They’ll be back,” Caedmon ground out, wiping the blood from his face.

  “How many do you reckon we are?” Amadour panted.

  Caedmon looked around at the crowd of exhausted men packed inside the compound. “About three thousand, I would guess. At least the walls are intact and will provide us some protection. I’ll climb up and survey what’s happening.”

  It took them a few minutes to find a way up. Many of the ladders were broken or rotting.

  “Mon Dieu!” Amadour gasped as he looked out. “Look at the fires in the main camp. They’re slaughtering everyone.”

  Neither man mentioned the ghastly screams audible from three miles away.

  “Merde!” Amadour exclaimed, turning away from the horror to look down into the fort. “Burel has made it to the sanctuary.”

  Caedmon grimaced. “Look at him, issuing orders already. It turns my stomach. I’ll not obey him.”

  From their vantage point, they watched the arrogant Norman strut around.

  “Looks like you’re not the only one,” Amadour smirked. “No-one is paying him any mind.”

  “It’s only a matter of time,” Caedmon said with grim finality, looking back over the scene of the ongoing massacre. “When the Turks are finished slaughtering our main army, they’ll turn their attention to us. They’ll starve us out.”

  Amadour nodded in tacit agreement. Their reprieve was a temporary one. Caedmon sensed every man there was reminded of the Germans who had drunk their own urine.

  My throat is already parched, my lips dry and cracked. Will I ever again taste the sweetness of Agneta? I despair of it. At least there are no donkeys here. We have horses. I pray I won’t have to eat Abbot.

  Pursuit

  After receiving Agneta’s message, Ram shared the news with Mabelle.

  “It’s a lot to ask of you, but if I leave immediately there might be a chance of finding him before he leaves Normandie.”

  “I wish we’d acted sooner,” she replied. “No wonder he feels we didn’t want him as part of our family.”

  “No blame rests on your shoulders, Mabelle. The fault is mine and I must at least try to correct the heartache I’ve caused.”

  “He’s lucky to have you as a father,” she replied.

  He shook his head. “If I’d only known…”

  She kissed him softly on the lips and whispered, “Go…with my blessing.”

  He began immediately issuing orders to organize a contingent of two hundred of his best men-at-arms. Riders were dispatched to the south coast to make arrangements to sail to Normandie.

  Ram summoned his sons to the Map Room to lay out his ideas. “Robert, I suggest you accompany us as far as Montbryce castle.”

  “I concur,” Robert replied. “Hopefully, we’ll catch up with him before that.”

  “I want to join the quest,” Baudoin said.

  Ram looked up from the chart he’d been studying. “It won’t be easy, mon fils. If Caedmon had been thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have embarked on this foolhardy venture.”

  Baudoin shrugged. “Papa, I’ve also done many foolish things in my life. We can’t allow his folly to kill him. For Agneta’s sake, as well as the babe’s.”

  Ram slapped him on the back, wondering what foolish things his shy son might have done. “Thank you, Baudoin. I would like you with me on this journey. I blame myself for not going to Caedmon immediately. He has a head start on us. It won’t sit well with me if anything happens to him. Before we depart, we must see to it that the documents are drawn up regarding the land we’re deeding to Caedmon. I leave that in your capable hands.”

  Baudoin nodded. “I’ll have the scrivener prepare the deeds and bring them for your signature.”

  The night before his departure, Ram and Mabelle shared a night of tender lovemaking. He kissed his beloved wife’s lips, then her neck and throat, before slowly working his way down to her breasts. He circled each nipple with his tongue.

  She whimpered when he suckled and ran one hand through his hair, holding her breast to his mouth with the other.

  His knowing fingers found where she loved to feel his touch, and a low throaty moan escaped her lips. She opened her legs and dug her heels into the bed, crying out with squeals of ecstasy he never tired of hearing. He entered her warm sheath and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deep inside.

  “Straighten your legs,” he whispered.

  Gripping him, she did as he asked, until he lay with his weight on her, his phallus against her sensitive
bud. He raised up and gently pressed her breasts together, then lowered his body back onto hers.

  “You’ve always borne my weight. I want to cover you completely as I possess you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  The sensuous feel of her body beneath him inflamed him and it took but a few strokes for him to find his release.

  “I want to stay joined to you as long as I can, my love. It might be many sennights before we see each other again. This journey could be perilous, and we might never meet again in this lifetime. You know I love you, have always loved you.”

  “As I love you, Ram,” she whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she pressed her face to his chest.

  The next morning he bade his beautiful wife farewell, gazing at her for long moments, trying to engrave this last image of her face on his mind.

  She told him she would ask Agneta to come to Ellesmere. “I’ll ask Lady Ascha too, with your permission.”

  He sighed heavily, wondering how he’d been lucky enough to have been gifted with such a wife. “You’re an amazing woman, Mabelle.”

  He kissed her lovingly.

  Baudoin silently embraced his mother for long minutes.

  They embarked on their desperate journey.

  Their trek to the south coast was uneventful, but they had a stormy crossing to Normandie and were in danger of being shipwrecked. Two horses suffered broken legs in the panic and had to be destroyed, but they’d brought extra in the event of such an occurrence. Once regrouped and underway they had no difficulty coming across large numbers of people headed for the Holy Land. News of the People’s Crusade, of Peter the Hermit, of Walter Sans-Avoir was on everyone’s lips.

  “It’s hard to separate fact from rumor,” Ram said to Baudoin. “I’ve heard word of thousands of crusaders, a mighty army.”