Beloved Pilgrim (32 page)

"Yes, he wanted me to take it back to Italy
and find his wife and give it to her." He barked a derisive laugh.
"He wants me to marry her and raise his children. What am I
supposed to do with my own, I ask you?"

Elisabeth looked from one mercenary's face to
the next. It had never occurred to her that these men might have
homes and families. She thought of Maliha and Tacetin, and a
feeling of profound emptiness overtook her. She wondered if any of
them would make it out alive.

But they were not able to do the honor for
their comrade, for the knights refused them the time. In the end
they had to leave Ruggiero, stripped of any valuables, unable even
to pile stones on his corpse. Ragnar refused to leave the body
alone, but Ranulf drew his sword and threatened the Dane with it.
Ragnar stomped away ahead of them, not even trying to hide the
tears of rage and grief. Ranulf and Thomas exchanged sorrowful
looks.

The oxen held out but many of the packhorses
and mules did not. Their desiccated flesh at least provided some
sustenance to the starving pilgrims. Eating meat unfortunately
increases the amount of water a body needs, so the blessing was
mixed. To the number of those with heatstroke and dehydration were
added those whose guts could not take the abuse. Some became so ill
that they could no longer go on.

Black Beast told Elisabeth and Albrecht to go
easy on any food, especially meat, so they and the knights with
whom they rode were spared the gripping nausea and voiding of
bowels.

She had one less problem to deal with
besides. Her monthly flux appeared to have stopped. After the
pilgrims left Nicomedia her already sparse menses became spottier,
and now that they had been on the road for over a month there was
nothing. With a wan smile Elisabeth thought to herself, "Not that a
little blood would be out of place these days." Everyone reeked,
but she was just as happy to do without that one telltale odor.

The relentless onslaught of archers about
every hour or so continued. It had occurred often enough now that
few even grumbled, but rather as soon as they heard the hoof beats
got into the turtle and prepared to feel the impact of the hundreds
of arrows yet another time.

They were caught off guard therefore when
that afternoon a large force of Turkish horsemen swept in at the
column's van from both sides. The desultory move to turtle
formation broke when instead of flights of arrows from thirty feet
away a new tactic was underway. This time screaming attacking Turks
with pikes and swords followed the arrows. The men in the van, the
Burgundian knights and men-at-arms, were delayed getting into more
accustomed order to fight one-on-one. They held off the swarm of
Turks for a short time, and then panic set in. To Stephen and Odo
of Burgundy's mutual horror, they watched as first a few knights,
and then almost the entire remainder turned their horses and fled
rearward. Stephen screamed himself hoarse calling the knights back,
but they were long out of earshot. He and Odo were forced to
retreat as well, left, as they were part of only a tiny company of
mounted warriors.

The Turks unaccountably did not go after the
fleeing knights. Instead they fell on the infantry who had been
left behind when the faster horses carried their riders away. Left
without their knightly commanders, confusion made what defensive
effort the men managed useless, and the Turkish pikes spitted men
through their leather and metal gabardines. Turkish swords rose and
fell to cleave helms and shoulders. The few men who tried to follow
their knights on their own two feet felt Turkish steel in their
backs.

With difficulty the apparently fleeing Duke
of Burgundy rallied his panicking knights, turned them back to the
fore and fell on the Turks. They beat them off but it was too late.
Not a single infantryman survived this unexpected attack. Stephen,
Odo and the other Burgundian knights sat astride their heaving
destriers staring unbelievingly about them at the bodies of every
man who had come with them across Europe and on ship to
Constantinople.

Other parts of the column experienced this
type of attack interspersed with swooping archers' flights of
arrows for the rest of the day, but no further panic occurred to
decimate the ranks of pilgrims, now barely over five of the six
initial thousand.

Finally ahead of them the pilgrims began to
see mountains. At first the idea of having to climb dispirited them
even further, but when someone said Kastamonu was just north of the
first range of hills and that there were passes, the hubbub among
soldiers and peasants alike began to convey some hope. At the same
time the attacks by mounted archers slowed to a trickle and then
stopped. When the first forage parties in days were able to go out
and bring back a modicum of food and others came back with water
from waterfalls, the elation was palpable.

Saint Gilles called his commanders as well as
the leaders of the Lombardy clergy together at a camp at the
junction of the valley they had ridden through for the past week or
more and one that funneled between hills to the east.

He put his case forthrightly. "We cannot,
simply cannot go on to Nixtar. We must break through to the Black
Sea and regroup and start again south from Constantinople."

Hugh of Montebello protested, earning
Raymond's baleful glare. "But what about Bohemond?"

With a long-suffering sigh, the hero of
Antioch replied, "We won't make it as far as where he is held. We
can do more for the bas . . . " Conrad's glance made the man veer
in a different direction. "Do more for my lord Bohemond from
Constantinople."

Stephen of Blois surprised Saint Gilles by
saying something sensible. "For all we know the Basileus has
already arranged for the ransom. We could get there and find the
man already rescued."

"Well, we can't just head north," Albert
objected.

Conrad spoke up. "Of course we will scout the
passes first to be sure they are not full of ambushes."

Albert shook his head. "That is not what I
was going to say."

Elisabeth, now almost a permanent shadow of
the Constable's, looked over as Raymond broke in hurriedly, "We can
get better news of Bohemond in Kastamonu."

Hugh looked at him. "Is Kastamonu in
Byzantine hands?"

"No, it is not. We shall have to take it,"
Raymond said with resolution.

Someone among the lesser lords remarked,
"Alexios would like that!"

Raymond's one eye flashed. "Yes, he would.
And so will you when you see the booty you can come away with."

An interested murmur filled the space where
the knights met. Finally something of what they had come for.

"And food. And wine. And women!" someone else
piped up.

Ludovico put a damper on the enthusiastic
response to these rewards. "My sons, there will be no wine. They
are Muslims. And I should remind you all that you are holy
pilgrims. You pledged yourself to chastity."

A few sniggers were all that broke the
embarrassed silence.

Conrad hesitated, then clearing his throat,
ventured, "My lord, are we in any condition to lay siege to the
fortress?"

Mixed agreement and disapproval met the
Constable as he waited for Toulouse's response. Raymond grimaced.
"We shall have to scout it out and see. If not, it is but a short
way beyond it to the sea. And that is Byzantine controlled."

The murmuring changed to general
approval.

"My Lords of Burgundy," Raymond said,
directing his glance to them. Both Stephen and Odo looked back at
him. "I shall want you to put together a scouting party to check
out the passes that run north to Kastamonu and thence to the
sea."

The two noblemen from Burgundy saluted and
turned to leave the gathering. The voice of Archdeacon Ludovico
held them back.

"Should we not, my lords, also scout the way
to the east? It seems to me that it is God's will that we not
abandon . . . "

"Bohemond. We get it. The jackass got himself
captured, why do we have to rescue him?" The hand Conrad placed on
Raymond's arm was shaken loose.

"I just said it. It is God's will. Or does
that not rank as high as your own, my lord of Toulouse?" Ludovico
snapped.

Conrad leaned and spoke into the high
commander's ear. Raymond nodded. "All right, we will scout in that
direction as well. But it makes no sense to delay our arrival at
the sea, so only several leagues into the valley. Then come right
back," he said directly to Conrad, who clicked his heels and bowed
assent.

The two parties, led by Stephen of Burgundy
and Conrad, headed north into the mountain pass and east into the
wide valley respectively. Elisabeth and Albrecht as well as the
three knights they had met in Mölk were part of the Constable's
scouting party. When, as light was fading, the German contingent
returned to the main camp after learning very little of the way
east, it found the camp in an uproar. Conrad spurred his horse as
quickly as he could to the command tent. Elisabeth and her squire
returned to their own campfire. They found a haggard Ranulf waiting
for them there.

"Thank God," he called when they, after
leaving their horses with the grooms who picketed them, strode up
to him. "Thank God you are both safe."

"What is it, Ranulf? What has happened?"
Elisabeth went to where the water skins lay under a clay pot and,
taking one out, unstoppered it and brought the skin to her lips.
She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her cloak and handed the skin
to her squire.

"The Burgundians sent to scout the pass . . .
they were ambushed. Dozens were killed. Knights and the Lombard
infantry that went with them." Ranulf made the sign of the cross on
his chest.

Elisabeth and Albrecht stood motionless and
stared at him. "What sort of ambush?" she finally asked lamely.

"Archers again, on both sides. They let them
ride in amongst them and then let fly."

Albrecht asked, "Stephen and Odo?"

"Made it back alive, though Odo had a fall
from his horse and is recuperating in his tent. Nothing broken, or
so I hear. Just banged up badly." Ranulf shrugged. "I wonder what
the commanders will decide to do."

Seeing Conrad and his aides striding
purposefully away from their horses, Elisabeth hurried to join
them.

In the command tent, Hugh of Montebello
sounded querulous. "I say we stick to the plan and head east. It is
obvious we were not meant to run away but to continue to Nixtar to
free Bohemond!" He turned to Conrad. "What was the scouting east in
the valley?"

Conrad knew well what Hugh wanted to hear. He
wanted reassurance that the way east was safe, but only to settle
the dispute. Conrad had to please him, for he and his party had
seen nothing to indicate any sort of trap or threat. Reluctantly he
responded, "No obstacles we could see. The way was clear. There is
a river almost the full length as far as we could see. We would at
least have clean water."

His glance in answer to Saint Gilles's glare
was resigned.

"I know I shouldn't like to have to face that
misery again," said Stephen of Burgundy from where he sat on a
campstool having a wound looked to by a chirurgeon. "From what I
saw ahead of us, there could easily have been more ambushes on the
slopes ahead. Frankly, whether we want to or not, I do not see how
we can get through there to Kastamonu. I am no fonder of rescuing
the Norman than you are. Is there not some other choice? Ouch,
careful there!" he snapped when the man treating his wound tugged
too hard on the bandage he was tying.

Raymond looked at Conrad. "Any way out of the
valley farther to the east?"

Conrad thought a minute, and then shrugged.
"Possibly. I think there may be another river about halfway down
the valley that cuts across and into the northern mountains. Maybe
there is a good pass there." He turned to look for the guides who
knew the territory at least better than the pilgrims did.

"That is true, my lords," said one of the
guides. "It is the Halys, though I cannot be certain how it flows
to the sea."

Stephen of Blois stopped swirling a goblet of
wine long enough to say, "There may be a pass, there is water, and
we know to head north from here is death. The choice seems
obvious."

The Count of Burgundy concurred. "At least
head east to find a new way out."

Their lead commander scowled. "I see no
reason not to expect the Turks to lie in ambush anywhere we try to
get to the sea, but the devil you don't know."

It was spread about the camp that the
pilgrims would head east with Nixtar as their goal. From the
Lombardy campfires came a chant of "Bohemond! Bohemond!" along with
the sounds of musical instruments, laughter and shrieks of general
merrymaking. In the Burgundian camp the camp followers so recently
bereaved by their double losses were already moving on to new
liaisons.

At their campsite, Alain stood and took leave
of his German companions. "Given the choice of that merry lot and
your gloomy faces, I think I will see if I can scare up some wine
and a wench."

Black Beast stretched and yawned. "I am beat
from the scouting foray. I'm going to curl up in my cloak and get
some sleep." He gestured to his squire. "Go ahead with Alain and
Renard, Bertolf. You could use a little fun."

Gerhardt seemed to hesitate. "The Beast is
right. I am all in, but you go have some merrymaking, Wiprecht."
The two younger men jumped up from the campfire and trotted to join
the Frank. Gerhardt and the big knight took their leave, huddling
closer to one of the commanders' tents to take advantage of the
windbreak.

Elisabeth and Albrecht sat looking across the
fire at each other. "Do you want to go?" she asked him, waving a
hand in the direction of the festivities.

Albrecht grinned. "To go get a wench?"