Beloved Pilgrim (19 page)

The man moved away from the spot at the fore
of the cog. Elisabeth managed to relieve herself without anyone
being the wiser.

Back in her old spot, she nodded to Albrecht.
"It worked."

"I had an idea about daytime," he whispered
as she pressed herself next to him.

"I can try to wait," she suggested.

Albrecht glanced about to see if anyone was
regarding them. He shoved something hard against her thigh. "Put
this in your britches," he rasped.

"What?" she asked, feeling for whatever it
was he was poking her with. It felt like a piece of leather or some
other hide. It was about the length and width of her hand. She
obediently slipped it under her tunic and shirt and then into her
britches.

"Roll it up," Albrecht instructed.

Her eyebrows darted up. "Oh, I get it! Then I
just piss through it." She reached in to manipulate the improvised
penis.

A man next to her looked her up and down,
disgusted. "Can't you do that in private?" he complained as he
turned his body so his back was to her.

"I wasn't . . . ," she began. She continued
to grapple with the leather piece. She sighed deeply when she was
done, then grinned at the man. "There, all done and no
accident."

Amazingly the device did the trick. If she
could avoid pissing in the daylight she did, but inevitably with
the amount of water they all had to drink to survive in the
constant sun, she would have to go to the beakhead at some time.
She used men's own fear to be tagged as a sodomite against them,
glaring and making crude remarks to anyone who seemed to be
watching her when she reached into her britches to pull out the
device. "See anything you like?" she sneered to one man, who
blushed and turned away.

She still got urine on her hose, but some of
the men were pissing where they stood, so she smelled better than
most.

The voyage saw her and her companions
constantly dashing to one side or another to make way for the crew
as they grappled with lines, changing the orientation of the one
sail to catch the wind, and seemingly constantly in motion,
constantly making adjustments to this and that. The result was that
Elisabeth and Albrecht found themselves in various parts of the
vessel and with new companions. She had a short opportunity to
watch the man who hung onto the steering board to help direct their
bearing. The rocking motion of the deck actually made standing for
hours easier, as shifting to compensate used muscles in her legs
and back that should otherwise have cramped.

As the islands south of Greece slid by,
Elisabeth admired how the buildings stood so starkly white against
the hills behind them. On one occasion she pointed out the ruins of
a temple on a summit. Alain, who had managed to worm his way near
them, explained about the Ancient Greeks and their gods.

As long as they were following the coast they
put in to shore to camp for a night on the beach. Elisabeth found
her false penis so convenient, she even used it much of the time
they were ashore.

One night ashore dozens of villagers
descended on their camp, bringing with them music and a syrupy
wine. The young women were dressed gaily if skimpily and proceeded
to dance among the campfires. One by one they drew men from the
crowd and made them dance with them. Elisabeth was one of the first
chosen, and she could tell the bright-eyed woman was hoping for
more than the dance. She certainly would have liked to comply, but
her luck with the whore in Bologna was unlikely to hold. Finally
the young woman danced away to find better prospects.

Elisabeth stood back to watch the merriment,
sparing the wine so as not to make some embarrassing mistake. She
was taken aback when one of the village men called her over to
where a group of them stood with their arms draped over each
other's shoulders. They pressed her into the line, and then when
the music started, they taught her a line dance with weaving steps.
As she mastered them the music and the dance grew rapid. She threw
her head back and roared with laughter, reveling in the freedom of
the dance. When it finally ended, she was breathless with exertion
but elated to receive the back slaps of the men, not one of whom
spared his heartiest blow.

Albrecht grinned when she finally rejoined
him at their campfire. "My lord, you could have had your pick of
the girls. They have been ogling you since the first one picked you
out!"

"What about you? No one catch your eye?" she
replied, taking a long draught of the weaker wine he offered
her.

"Not ready for that yet," Albrecht replied.
"Besides, I don't want to get found out."

"Found out how?" came Black Beast's voice as
he slipped in beside Elisabeth.

She forestalled the inquiry by making one of
her own. "Now what are you doing here, my lord? Why are you not off
along the strand with some big-eyed, big-arsed wench?"

The Beast puffed up his chest and answered,
"Oh, I have been. Three times so far."

Elisabeth and Albrecht did their best to look
like they believed him.

Whatever wonders of man or God she had
witnessed to this point in the pilgrimage, Elisabeth was unprepared
for her first sight of that golden city itself. As the ships grew
nearer, having passed through the narrow strait called the
Hellespont and into the Sea of Marmara, they began to see a massive
city. As light dimmed, it became a bejeweled and sparkling eminence
in the distance, with the utter blackness of the sea at its base.
The hubbub on the ship became louder. Then the vessel seemed to
drift to a halt.

"There's an imperial barge approaching,"
Alain explained.

From where she stood, Elisabeth could see the
colorful canopies on the barge but little else. The pilgrim knights
grew quiet, with only occasional speculative murmurs. At the fore
of the ship a grumbling began just before the barge drew away. One
could hear "What is it? What's happening?" called in numerous
languages from one section of the passengers to another and then
another. The ship was underway, but in no time it was clearly
sailing due east and not angling to the city.

By the time the news made it to her spot on
the deck, the stories Elisabeth heard had metamorphosed into
several versions of whatever the truth was. She and Alain listened
and then turned to examine what they heard, sharing their analysis
with Albrecht and Black Beast and others nearby.

Alain said, "One thing for sure, we are not
putting in to Constantinople. We are being redirected."

"Where?"

"Why?"

"What are they going to do with us?"

Alain waved aside all the questions. "I'm not
sure. Something happened, something with the Lombards, that has
Emperor Alexios hopping mad."

"That doesn't sound promising," Elisabeth
sighed.

Someone from a short distance away called to
them, "Nicomedia!"

Alain shook his head and cupped an ear with
his hand. "Where?"

"Nicomedia! It's in the Gulf of Izmit."

Alain waved acknowledgement and thanks.
"Never heard of it."

"It must be farther east," someone observed.
"Not too far, I hope."

"Getting a dry arse might be the least of our
troubles," Black Beast scowled.

"I thought Alexios called for pilgrim knights
to come to his aid against the Turks," Elisabeth queried.

"If the Lombards have not queered our
welcome," Alain put in. "In any case, I suppose we will find out
soon. You might want to make sure your armor and weapons are in
good order."

Jehan de Liege laughed. "What the salt sea
won't damage, the piss all over the deck will."

They sailed steadily east with small boats
full of armed men in the Emperor's livery on each side, ensuring
they put in only where allowed. Elisabeth watched with regret as
the magnificent city grew smaller and smaller as they sailed
away.

A terrible stench reached her nostrils as
they were guided at last into a port on the north shore of the Gulf
of Izmit. The gangplank was hoisted into place, and she and her
companions followed the rest of the passengers to and over it onto
the quay. There men in armor wielding cudgels directed them with
shouts and curses in a company into the town of Nicomedia and
thence to a fenced-in camp full of ragtag tents, lean-tos, and less
identifiable shelters. The camp was crowded and it became clear
immediately that this was where the smell had come from. Elisabeth
looked at the camp's people. They were peasants, mostly, a few
unhealthy-looking priests, one or two dozen men with partial armor
but no weapons. She heard the Lombard dialect of Italian
spoken.

"Arêtes!" The word was shouted in French,
then repeated in what she took for Greek. It came from the left,
down along the stretch of fence that ended a matter of a rod's
length down that way.

The pilgrims that had just arrived did not
need to be told to stop. They had started to balk when they saw the
camp gate opening. Shouts of "No!" and "What's the meaning of
this?" accompanied the start of a scuffle up ahead.

The commander of the Byzantine guards shouted
the same word she had heard, confirming that it was spoken in
Greek, the language of the Byzantine Empire. The tumult died down
as a man in full European armor came toward them and approached the
guard commander. They proceeded to talk and gesture volubly.
Neither Elisabeth nor her companions could make much of it.

At last the commander of the guards threw his
hands up and, shouting an order, stalked away. The guards stayed
where they were, penning in the large group of newly arrived
pilgrims. The man who had argued with the commander turned to them.
A number of the higher-ranking pilgrims moved to him and encircled
him. Between shouted questions, answers, oaths and lamentations,
little appeared to be resolved.

Glancing to her left, Elisabeth noticed
Ruggiero, the Italian mercenary, striding to where his companions
lolled on the sidelines. Beckoning Albrecht, she made a beeline for
the mercenary band.

"Why, if it isn't our old friend Elias von
Something," Ranulf called to her. "And his pet man."

"What did you find out, Ruggiero?" she
insisted, ignoring Ranulf.

The Italian looked at Ranulf, who nodded.
"They wanted to take us into that camp, but the officer up there
told them we won't go in until we hear from one of our leaders. And
the two Stephens, Odo and Conrad have gone to Constantinople to get
an explanation."

"Who are these people?" she demanded. She
knew they were the Lombards, but wanted both affirmation and
amplification.

Scratching his dark, bushy beard, Ruggiero
looked back at the camp where inmates now stood pressed against the
fence, shouting a combination of insults, pleas, catcalls, and
questions to the newly arrived. "They are the Lombards, the
pilgrims who came with the Archbishop. Anselm."

"Why are they imprisoned?" Ranulf asked.

"Well, from what I got they arrived by land a
couple months ago, basically stripping the land all along the way
to the city. Alexios forced them into a camp near the city walls.
They broke out and got into the city and ravaged the place."

"Oh God," Elisabeth moaned.

"It gets worse," said Ragnar as he returned
from the same errand as Ruggiero. "They stormed the palace and
killed one of the Emperor's lions. They are here and under guard
because of that. But what do you expect from a rabble?"

"So Anselm did nothing to prevent it?"
Albrecht asked, earning a snort of derision from three of the
mercenaries and a derisive shake of the head from Thomas.

"Anyway, the big fellow there says we are not
to be housed with the Lombards," Ruggiero added. "The high ups are
off to get us allowed to enter Constantinople. We are to be
escorted there when they get back."

Ranulf put in acerbically, "If they get
back."

The commanders did come back. They had the
Byzantine guards help to arrange billets for the mass of the army,
shiploads of which continued to arrive. They chose a good-sized
company of pilgrim knights to return to Constantinople with them.
Elisabeth and Albrecht, as well as Black Beast, Alain and Gerhardt
and their squires were included. The mercenaries were not.

It was too far to walk back to the great
city, would have taken far too long even on horseback. The small
groups of knights and squires and a few churchmen were escorted to
small rowed boats which made better speed.

It was the month of May, but not the May they
knew in France or Germany. If it was spring here, it was no spring
they recognized. It seemed bone dry and all but lifeless in the
intense heat that reflected off the water into their eyes, blinding
them.

As they came closer to the magnificent city
of Constantinople they began to pass villas with luxurious gardens,
exhaling scents and the sound of fountains, refreshing their souls.
They were better disposed to goggle at the great marble walls of
the Byzantine metropolis as they loomed ever higher before them.
Its stones glowed golden in the summer sunlight, the battlements so
high above them that they could not distinguish features on the
faces of the patrolling guards there. They made landing at an
opulent quay, then followed their escort to the imposing
fortress.

The foot of the walls was lush all about with
food gardens. The common people who bent to their toil stood,
stretched their backs and stared at the walking officers who
returned their gazes.

For Elisabeth the journey so far had been
quite the adventure, her mind always on learning how to behave
convincingly like a man, honing her fighting skills, simply taking
care of each part of the trip. Now with the walls before her, walls
like no city or town or fortress she had ever seen, her mind turned
abruptly back to the purpose of this quest. She glanced at Albrecht
who walked alongside her carrying her shield and lance. In his eyes
she recognized the same realization.