East of Ashes (11 page)

--- Lamech ---

Captain De Lagery paced up and down on the deck of his ship, frustration written all over his face as he checked and rechecked the work of his sailors who were scurrying around to get everything ready.

He glanced at the water level against the harbour wall.
We need to get going right away or we'll miss the tide
, he thought. They had tarried for too long in Marseilles already, but he couldn't very well refuse the extra material the Crusaders wanted to bring aboard. Thankfully they had enough space for it, or things might have become sticky.

He watched the Crusader recruits who had all pitched in to help his men get the ship ready. Two men were walking up the gangplank, carrying bags of wheat on their shoulders.

Movement caught the corner of his eye and he spun around to face a sailor who was tying down equipment.

"No!" he shouted, causing the sailor to jump in fright. "You have to make sure you double-knot those or they'll slip loose at the first sign of rough seas. Have you not sailed the Mediterranean before?" he bellowed in exasperation.

The sailor quickly retied the equipment according to the captain's orders. De Lagery walked over to check his work. Satisfied that the ropes were tied securely, he continued pacing through the flurry of moving sailors, shouting orders as he went along.

He was eager to get going, not only because of the tide, but because the Crusaders desperately needed their equipment and provisions. Grumble as he m
ight
, deep down he felt sympathy for the poor souls fighting in the pope's holy war.

By now the Crusaders would have reached the walls of Antioch - arguably the biggest obstacle on their march to the Holy Land. Two years after Pope Urban II's call to take back Jerusalem from the Caracens, and a year and a half after the Crusaders set out from Europe, the Crusader army was rapidly dwindling in numbers. Antioch would probably be the make or break test. If it f
e
ll, the road to Jerusalem w
ould
be open. If not, any hope to take the holy city would disappear.

Keeping an open supply route by land between Europe and Jerusalem was crucial to the Crusade's success. And Antioch lay right in the middle of that route.

Wrestled from the Byzantine Empire by the Seljuks a mere 12 years ago through deceit, Antioch possessed formidable defences. Built at the foot of a mountain, the entire city was surrounded by impenetrable walls. Attacking it from the front would be a nightmare, while slipping in over the mountain at its back
wa
s made impossible by the wall that snaked up and over the ridge of the mountain, completely encircling the city.

No wonder the Seljuks needed to use treachery to gain a foot inside the city walls
, De Lagery thought ruefully.

Word had reached Europe that the Crusaders would probably dig in for a lengthy siege - attacking the walls directly could prove catastrophic to the Crusade at this point. But, for the siege to be successful, they'
d
need the right equipment, such as
which
Captain De Lagery carried aboard his ship.

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sight on the quay. A man was standing next to his horse, eyeing the ship. Indecision was clearly edged on his face. De Lagery had seen that look on many young knights' faces this past year and a half and would normally have ignored the man, but something kept his attention.

The man might
have
be
en
indecisive at th
at
moment, but De Lagery could tell by the way he cocked his head to the side that once he
had
ma
de
his decision, he would see things through to the bitter end.

"Ahoy there! Can I help you?" he shouted down at the man, involuntarily doing a double-take when he saw the steel in the man's eyes.

"Is this ship heading towards the Crusaders?" the man shouted back.

"Indeed it is. We're heading towards St. Simeon, which is the closest port to Antioch."

The man held his gaze for a few moments and then finally came to a decision.

"Would you be willing to take another hand with you?" he asked.

Normally De Lagery would
have
chase
d
him away, because his ship was overloaded as it
wa
s. Yet something about the man's bearing made him hesitate.

"Come on board," he finally shouted. "You'll have to sell your horse though. There's no room for it. But you
’d
better do it quickly as we're about to weigh anchor."

Without a moment's hesitation the man led his horse to a nearby stable, conversed with the owner for a few seconds and then returned to the ship without the horse. He quickly scampered up the walkway and held out his hand to the captain.

Taking the man's hand in greeting, De Lagery introduced himself: "Captain De Lagery."

"Lamech."

"Welcome aboard Lamech. I hope you've got your sea boots on because we're going to cut directly across the Mediterranean to St. Simeon."

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll manage," Lamech said without smiling.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find a place on deck to sleep as we don't have any cabins left," De Lagery continued and eyed Lamech appraisingly, wondering whether he had made a wise decision.
Too late
, he thought.
It's in the Lord's hands now
.

"That's fine. And I'm not inexperienced with ships so you may put me to work," Lamech replied.

De Lagery laughed. "Don't worry about that," he answered, "That goes without saying."

Lamech smiled slightly at his words. "I can see this is going to be an eventful trip," he replied.

De Lagery laughed uproariously and slapped Lamech on the back. "You can count on that," he said, all doubts of having
had
Lamech on board his ship disappearing.

-------

--- St Simeon, November 1097 ---

The trip was utterly uneventful. The Mediterranean Sea behaved itself miraculously well, with a favourable wind speeding the travellers to St. Simeon. A couple of days into their journey they had joined up with a Genoese fleet which was also heading towards St Simeon from Italy.

On a mid-November morning, Lamech was standing at the railing of their ship, gazing into the misty horizon. The undefined hulks of the Genoese fleet could barely be made out on both sides of them; ghostly apparitions rolling in and out of focus through the mist, gently bobbing up and down on the waves.

At any other time it would have been a fascinating sight, but at that very moment Lamech didn't notice anything around him, his mind occupied by long dead images.

With calm seas and full sails, there was very little for Lamech to do on the trip but fight the urge to sink deeper into dark thoughts. It was a battle against memories of blood, betrayal and vengeance that threatened to consume him. As much as he tried to keep the menacing waves at bay, rivulets of memories seeped through cracks in his defences and filled his heart and mind.

The memories were dark, but the clarity of the pain kept it from blurring.

It hadn't been difficult to track down her murderer. The man had been a prominent figure in the city. A score of witnesses had identified him as the man who they had seen running from her room, blood splattered all over his clothes.

Upon learning the identity of her murderer, Lamech had stormed into the man's house in a blind rage. He had found him sitting down for dinner as if nothing had happened. But when he saw Lamech standing in the doorway, he kicked over his chair in his haste to get away. Lamech had dived across the table and bore him to the ground, his one knee wrenched painfully into the man's stomach.

Lamech remember holding his knife against his throat, staring into fearful eyes. He had held himself on the brink for what felt like hours, desperately fighting the urge to slice into his throat.

If it wasn't for his father storming into the room and screaming for him to stay his hand, he probably would have killed him.

A piercing cry propelled him back to the present: "Land ahead!"

His head jerked up at the sound and he peered into the morning fog. He could just make out the outline of something slowly taking shape in the distance. He moved away from the side railing and made his way towards the front of the ship where he joined other soldiers and some sailors who were staring at the rapidly materialising harbour walls of St Simeon.

His dark recollections of a moment ago faded quickly with each rise and fall of the ship. Lamech could feel his heart lifting as the ship stormed towards the misty apparition. He felt elated, even as the familiar anger still boiled just below the surface.

At last he would find something for his sword to do.

As the fleet drew closer to the harbour, he could make out figures standing on the harbour wall, waiting for them to dock. At first they seemed ghost-like thanks to the mist that was blanketing the entire area, reducing visibility to a few hundred
feet
at best. But Lamech could soon make out that the figures awaiting their arrival were Crusaders.

None of them really wore any matching clothing that could be considered part of a uniform, but every single one of them sported a red cross on their person in some form or another. Some of the Crusaders had a cross embroidered on their tunics, others had it painted on the front of their helmets; still others had a smaller red cross painted over their hearts in crude strokes.

The grimness and silence with which they stood and waited struck Lamech the most. It was clear from the way they carried themselves that they were battle-hardened fighters. Lamech could only surmise that the weak ones had fallen in battle long ago. Those that remained were the ones who had the nerve and the fighting skill to survive.

His suspicions were confirmed the moment he stepped onto land at St Simeon and saw them up close. Although they were all smiling at the newcomers, every single one of them bore evidence of constant battle over the past year and a half since the Crusade got underway in earnest.

One had a scar that ran from the top of his right ear all the way down his cheek, ending in a hook on his chin. It had not healed well due to the minimal medical assistance the Crusaders had at their disposal.

Another's entire nose was missing with two gaping holes in its stead. During the siege of Nicaea a few months earlier he
had
narrowly missed being cleaved in two by an enemy sword when he jerked his head back at the last moment, but lost his nose instead.