Beloved Pilgrim Read online

  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?"

  "I suppose not. I do miss Maliha terribly." Elisabeth sighed and rested her chin on her palm.

  The look in Albrecht's eyes was wistful. "I wonder," he said slowly, "if, assuming we get back at all. Will they be waiting for us?"

  "You doubt . . . um . . . that person?" she asked, surprised.

  "I do not know. For all I know we will get back to . . . um, there, and I will discover I am no longer in the picture."

  "I am as certain as I can be that I will find Maliha waiting for me." Her face was not the face of a confident person, however. "I hope."

  They sat on in silence.

  Chapter Fourteen ~ Out of Control

  The pilgrims made their way east in peace if not in comfort. They saw no Turks, neither trailing them nor watching them from the heights. If anything, their physical discomforts were magnified by nothing to distract them. The heat continued unabated, and with the wind that coursed through this west-to-east valley, grit stuck wherever there was sweat. Their eyes were red-rimmed with the irritation, their nostrils crusty with dust, and their lips cracked and bleeding. When the breeze died down swarms of flies covered human and animal alike. It was a testament to the docility of mules and oxen that they bore the plaguing insects at all. The soldiers and knights hesitated to remove helms even with no enemy in sight. And at least the helms kept the bugs at bay for the most part.

  The way east brought gradual confidence. Articles of armor and clothing came off. The promise of clean water ahead, heralded by a line of trees that clearly lined the banks of a sizable stream or even a river, made the mood lighter, particularly among the camp followers. Some divested themselves of most of their clothing, sang, danced and got into fistfights. The soldiers looked after the cavorting civilians with longing, so much did they want to join them, stretch other muscles than those required for the relentless march, to rest, to seek out willing women, to forget where they were and what they had gone through for just a few hours.

  The River Halys was wide but not too swift to cross. The horses did not need to be coaxed to step into the water. Rather they had to be urged on once they stretched their muzzles to drink.

  Elisabeth was one of the knights who gladly dismounted and waded through the water. She smiled and laughed when Gerhardt, also afoot, splashed her, wetting her from crown to toe. Though not clear, the water was sweet. If she had not been in full mail, she thought she might have lain down in the river and let it wash over her. She did not even mind that her cracked lips stung and bled as she drank.

  Across the river, its course now paralleling their trek on the south, the pilgrims found themselves still alone with no Turks either to their side or trailing them. Perhaps Montebello had been right, Elisabeth wondered. Perhaps Malik Ghazi would leave them be to cross through his territory. Foraging groups went out once more. There was ample water taken from the Halys. Hope rose in many hearts.

  The valley ran southwest to northeast. There was evidence of habitations nearer the river, deserted villages, little sign of cultivation. During the long days of the march they were able to forage from the wild. Getting enough food at last the people and the remaining animals began to look less desiccated, to build a little muscle. The pilgrim's lined faces smoothed. Slowly eyes stopped scanning the hilltops as constantly. Were they home free? Might they actually make it?

  A scout galloped up a few days into the march with news that a small village lay not far ahead. As the procession moved forward, the village at last came into view. Low walls, flat roofed buildings, one spire.

  "What do you see?" one of the women who followed her man from Austria demanded of Elisabeth where she sat high above on Gauner's tall back.

  She glanced down at the woman, seeing a comely peasant carrying a listless child. "Just a village, with low walls. There is some sort of grove, olive trees perhaps?" she replied. "There might be people!"

  Soon the procession's forward progress changed to a rush toward the small village. Hundreds of pilgrims, she realized, were making straight for the dilapidated gate in the wall that was meant to shelter the villagers. She watched for some minutes, growing anxious at the mob ahead. Finally, she urged her mount forward. She glanced toward some of the other knights and found them pulling out of formation and hurrying forward as well. The Lombard riffraff broke out into full run, unwilling to miss out on whatever the ones before were after.

  When Elisabeth and Albrecht reached the village, they saw to their horror that soldiers and noncombatants alike were ransacking it. Men and women and even some older children tore through the village with its two dozen huts and snatched up almost anything they found. One woman held a chicken in her arms and took great bites out of a big flatbread, her children dancing and jumping at her side to get their share. A man-at-arms took his pike and speared an old man who tried to prevent him from carrying off a jug of wine, which broke when it hit the ground as the man-at-arms put both hands on the staff of the pike to thrust it forward. A group of men, some men-at-arms and some peasants, had a woman on the ground and were taking turns violating her. Two of the huts were ablaze. The grove of olive trees was full of pilgrims jumping to pull down under-ripe fruit, others standing in and sometimes breaking the branches as they grabbed and threw down olives.

  Elisabeth realized as her anger grew that it was not so much that the villagers were so beset but that the management of provisions had fallen to the chaos. By the time this orgy was over, the pilgrims would be lucky to find anything they could take away with them for the road.

  She did not have time to chastise herself for her unworthy thoughts. Albrecht touched her shoulder and pointed. She gasped when she saw a church with the odd cross used in this part of the world, like the ones in Constantinople. A black-cassocked Eastern priest stood in the door wringing his hands and
pleading. "My God," she exclaimed. "It is a Christian village!"

  She and Albrecht set to trying to prevent any further pillaging and destruction, other knights and some men-at-arms trying to herd the miscreants out of the gate and back to where the rest of the procession stood gawping. She noticed when she glanced their way that Father Cyril and some other priests were guiding the distraught priest of the small church back into its sanctuary. Cyril stood in front of the door with a stout cudgel daring anyone to enter and despoil the holy place. "Come," Elisabeth called to her squire, and led him to the church. Cyril shot her a disgusted look until she dismounted and went to stand, sword drawn, at his side. It felt good to have a specific thing to defend. Two Italian knights and a crossbowman joined them. Any looters intent on the altar treasures took one look at the armed men and the priest with his angry glare and went to find easier prizes.

  Gathering after the ransacking of the village, pilgrims began to fight each other for the food and other spoils taken from the now-destroyed village. Those villagers left alive took refuge in the church, where the Eastern priest and some of the women of the town, more than a few weeping from being violently used, tended the wounded and wept over the dead.

  Elisabeth and Albrecht tried to help, but they were confronted with angry stares and were sworn at and spit on. They made their way back to their own party. They found Gerhardt, who was telling a story bitterly of the unwillingness of the leaders to make any effort first to prevent the disaster or to do anything afterward to punish transgressors. "They just put up their tent and took their ease. At least Conrad was not among them. He was herding people out of the olive grove."