Shadows on a Sword (18 page)

“What does this mean?” Theo asked.

“Nothing to us, as far as Bohemond is concerned,” Amalric answered. “The Fatimids are Muslims, the same as the Turks they conquered. We will simply fight them instead of the Turks when we get there.”

“If
we get there,” Theo muttered. “Our leaders would rather sit here and rot than get on with it.”

“We will go soon, my son,” the count assured him. “I have heard that the soldiers and the common folk have had enough of all this haggling, and I, for one, agree with them. They have threatened to march on their own and tear down the walls of Antioch as they leave if we do not come to some decision.”

Amalric frowned. He would tolerate no talk that even remotely sounded like criticism of Duke Godfrey, but he could not argue with Count Garnier.

“Three Yuletides, now, since we left our homes,” Emma said, when Count Garnier had left and she had joined Theo and Amalric. She was always careful to stay far away when the count was present. “Who would have thought the journey would take so long?”

“Much has happened,” Theo said. He scraped the last of the gruel from his bowl.

“Much,” Emma agreed. She rubbed her finger around the rim of her bowl and then licked it. “We were so young when we left, were we not?”

Theo looked at her in surprise. In the privacy of the house, with only Amalric there, she had thrown back her hood, and Theo saw her clearly for the first time in months. There were lines around her eyes. Her mouth had a firmness and determination that had not been there before. In truth, she was a young, carefree girl no more. He supposed that he, too, had changed just as much.

“Well, I, for one, am still young, and I intend to remain so for the rest of my life. I will never grow old,” Amalric announced.

“How will you accomplish that, my friend?” Theo asked.

“Live well, die young. In battle, preferably. That is the life I choose.”

Theo searched his friend’s face carefully. Amalric had not changed very much. His eyes were still bright and eager, his brow was unlined. There was, perhaps,a hardness that had not been there before, but that was all.

“The warrior’s life suits you,” Theo said.

“It does,” Amalric agreed. “Most admirably.”

It was true, Theo thought. Amalric fought when he had to fight, and enjoyed life to the hilt whenever he could. He was plagued by none of the doubts, the fears, the waves of sick desperation that overwhelmed Theo.

Finally, in January, they left. The weather was pleasantly cool as they made their way through the hills south of the city toward the coast. Theo’s palfrey had died in the summer heat at Antioch, so he often walked with Emma, leading Centurion. He had a small Turkish pony that had been captured during the battle, but used it to carry their possessions, as he did not want to load Centurion even lightly. The long journey was taking its toll on the warhorse. He had been able to rest in Antioch most of the time, but now he was forced to cover many kilometers each day. Theo worried about him. He had not been bred to do this kind of work. The horse sweated profusely and some evenings refused to graze, just stood, head hanging with exhaustion and dejection. Emma tempted him with the sweetest grass and leaves she could find but, more often than not, he rejected them. It was only when they had crossed the mountains and began to near the sea that he seemed to revive.

Theo could feel a difference in the air now. There was a salty tang to the breezes that sprang up in the early mornings. Tales began to be told among the crusaders of the immensity of the sea toward which they traveled.

“It stretches to the very end of the world,” Amalric reported with authority.

In the end, however, nothing could have prepared Theo for the sight of it when they finally reached its rocky shores. An endless, moving, shining expanse. The waves murmured in, one after another. Wet, shiny seaweed festooned the rocks. When he bent to touch it, the water was warm, welcoming.

The first evening, after camp had been set up, Emma and Theo stole away to a secluded cove near their campsite. Out of sight of any of the other crusaders, Emma shed, for a few moments, her groom’s disguise. She dropped onto a rock, tore off her worn, stiff leather shoes, and dangled her bare feet in the water with a sigh of absolute bliss. Theo could not bring himself to enjoy quite such a liberty, but he sank down beside her. At first, afraid someone would come upon them, he sat tense and alert, but gradually the quietness and beauty of the evening soothed and settled him.

They didn’t speak. A few seabirds swooped out over the waves. Their cries sounded strangely mournful and lost. Behind them, the noise and bustle of the army and the pilgrims making camp were muted, as if they came from another world.

Suddenly, Emma stood and waded out into the softly plashing surf. Theo watched as she bent to run her fingers lightly through the water, as if caressing the small waves. She straightened up again, and then ventured a few steps farther out. A wave, larger than the others, caught her by surprise. She staggered with the force of it, then found her balance and turned back to face Theo, laughing.

“Come in, Theo,” she cried. “Join me!”

He shook his head.

“But it’s wonderful!”

When he still did not move to follow her, she made a face at him, shrugged her shoulders and splashed back to sit beside him. Her toes curled around the rocks. He felt the warmth of her body against him, smelled the musky, earthy smell of her … He stiffened and forced himself to draw away.

Emma had made it very clear what their bargain was.

“A
n envoy arrived last evening from the Fatimid Eyptians,” Amalric announced one morning.

It was early April and the army had halted once again after traveling south, following the shores of the great sea. The heat increased daily, but there were always sea breezes to offset it, and the countryside was green and fertile. Orchards were in blossom. Beyond them, farther inland, snow-topped crests of mountains gleamed in the sun.

The crusaders were quarreling again. Raymond of Toulouse had led his troops inland to lay siege to the town of Arga. Even though the town was of little importance to the crusade and the other princes refused to support him, he would not desist. Word had come from the emperor Alexius that he would join them by June, and once again Raymond intended to wait for him.

“We are nearing the Fatimids’ territory, are we not?” Emma looked up from where she was trimming the long hair around Centurion’s hooves. It collected mud and dirt and made the going harder for him. When she didn’t immediately resume the work, the horse gave her a nudge that knocked her back on her heels. She righted herself and gave him a good-natured cuff on the ear. The warhorse was suffering now with the heat as well, and she was inclined to humor him.

Not that she ever did otherwise, Theo thought.

“We are,” Amalric answered. “The Fatimids have driven the Turks out as far as the Dog River, a scant week’s travel from here.”

“And what did the messenger have to say?” Theo asked.

“He brought an offer from the Egyptian vizier, al-Adfal. He promised that if we abandon any attempt to force our way into their territory, they will allow us free access to all the holy places in Jerusalem.”

“And Bohemond’s answer?”

“He rejected it. Jerusalem must be Christian again—nothing less will do. The envoy went away furious. He said we will all be killed like dogs.”

They celebrated Easter amid palm trees that Christ Himself must have looked upon. A month later, the count told Theo that the princes had convinced Raymond to abandon his siege of Arga.

“The fighting has cost the lives of many of his men,” he told Theo, his voice weighted with sadness.

When the remainder of Raymond’s men rode, sagging and defeated, back into the crusader camp, Theo saw rivulets of tears staining channels down Raymond’s dirt-encrusted cheeks.

“Not a prince who accepts failure easily,” Amalric muttered.

“Finally, we move again,” Theo announced to Emma early the next day. They struck camp and the army continued its progress down the coast, through the small seaport of Jabala, where the emir surrendered to them with hardly any resistance, and on to the port of Tortosa, where the inhabitants made no resistance at all.

“I see that our army is behaving with its usual gratitude and respect for those who do not oppose us,” Emma remarked, as she stood by Theo and watched soldiers march into camp with animals that they had captured on raids into the surrounding countryside. Ponies, goats and even more of the curious camels were led in. The camels could go for the most amazing periods of time without water, but they were not suited for riding, Theo discovered. He had tried it, and found that the rolling lurch of the beast made Centurion seem a model of comfort and ease in comparison.

They reached Tripoli, where the emir greeted them effusively.

“He has not only released three hundred Christians that he has been holding captive, but he’s given them fifteen thousand bezants in compensation and fifteen fine horses,” Amalric reported. “He’s provided us with pack animals and provender for the entire army as well.”

“Only too glad to see us on our way out of his city and supplied well enough to tackle the Fatimids for him,” Emma remarked.

“She is probably right,” Amalric admitted. “The Egyptians press ever closer. It will make the emir feel much better to have us as a buffer between him and them.”

The army warily approached the Fatimid frontier at the Dog River. Although shallow here, the river was a fast-flowing stream that cut its way down through boulders and rocks from the wooded mountains above to hurl itself into the sea. Both Theo and Emma rode Turkish ponies now, and carried their supplies on one of the emir’s pack animals. Centurion plodded beside them, head down and sweating profusely. He waded into the cool water and stood there, letting the current swirl around and past him as if he were one of the great boulders themselves.

“Move him out of there,” Theo ordered Emma. “He is in the way.”

“He will not move,” Emma replied.

“Make him,” Theo insisted.

“I cannot,” she said.

“You cannot?” Theo echoed. He scowled.

“No,” Emma answered, “I cannot. He will move when he wishes.”

Theo’s scowl deepened. “You spoil that animal entirely too much,” he said. “I will not have this.” He strode into the water and took hold of Centurion’s reins.

Emma relinquished them and made her way to the river’s edge. There she stood, hands behind her back, and watched. Her hood covered most of her face, but Theo could see a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. He tugged on Centurion’s bridle. It was like tugging on a stone wall. He tugged again. “Move!” he commanded. Centurion snorted and bent his head to drink.

Theo suddenly became aware of amused looks as the soldiers forded the river on either side of him. He dropped Centurion’s reins and waded to shore.

“Stay here with the stubborn beast, then, and catch up to me when he chooses.” He gathered up the reins of their ponies and stormed off down the path.

He had expected that they would make camp after crossing the river, but the signal came back to forge on.

“We must conserve our supplies,” the count told him. “All the ports from here on are in Fatimid hands and we can expect no further reprovisioning. Bohemond is anxious to press on with as little delay as possible.”

Emma and Centurion did not rejoin him until evening.

“He refused to move until the entire army finished crossing,” Emma said, with a rueful shake of her head. “But he is much refreshed now.”

They drew near to Beirut. Theo marveled at the lavish city, and the luxuriousness of the gardens and orchards surrounding it. Instead of rocky shoreline, he saw vast beaches of sand. Truly, Beirut seemed like a paradise, set on the shores of the gleaming sea. The citizens of the city, at first fearful, began tentatively to come out of their houses as the army passed. Bearing gifts of fruit and all kinds of food, they pressed the offerings onto the crusaders.

“We are guaranteed safe passage through the city if we do no harm to the fruit trees, crops or vines,” Godfrey told them. The order was passed down through the ranks. The troops obeyed, and the passage became a kind of celebration. The townsfolk came out laughing, carrying armfuls and baskets of food; the crusaders accepted it all with delight.

The next town on the coast was Sidon. Here, the garrison made a sortie against the crusaders. The army repulsed it easily and, in retaliation, the troops were let loose to plunder and ravage the gardens of the suburbs. Then they moved quickly on to Tyre.

“We will rest here,” Bohemond finally decreed. So they made camp outside the high walls of the city.

Theo could see soldiers from the town’s garrison spying on them from behind the safety of the walls, but none came out.

If Beirut had seemed a paradise, Tyre was even more beautiful. Emma tethered Centurion in the shade of a wide-branching tree where the breeze from the sea could help cool him. Although it was still only May, the weather was already hot. Theo was entranced by the sandstone houses of the city that glistened pink and amber in the sun. The town was set comfortably among fields and groves, with the sea on one side and thickly wooded mountains rising on the other, some still snow-capped. Rivers of blossoms from countless orchards cascaded down through the valley that cleft the hills above them.

“I must go exploring,” Emma declared the morning after they had made camp. “Will you go with me?”

“Exploring,” Theo questioned. “Where?”

“Up there.” She pointed to the trees rising up the hillside above them.

“But the camp—the beasts—we cannot leave them unattended for so long.”

“I know a boy who will watch them for us and make certain Centurion stays in the shade and has plenty of water. He’s the son of a friend of mine.”

“You seem to have made a lot of strange friends,” Theo answered. “Is this the friend who taught you how to use the bow and arrow?”

Emma flushed. “Yes,” she said. “He is one of the archers. You do not know him.”