There Will Be Wolves (14 page)

This time Ursula and Bruno were among the first of the wagons to leave. The nobles and the soldiers had formed up hurriedly, and the long train began to move, even as men were still straggling back along the road from the city. Many of them carried sacks and stolen clothing, but no one now thought to fight for it. The enormity of what had occurred was just beginning to be understood.

Four thousand killed.

Ursula’s mind was blank with horror.

I
t was not so much a march as a headlong flight. They didn’t even dare stop to make camp that night, but forged on until they reached the Save River where it crossed the Danube, and put it between them and the Hungarians. Only then did they feel safe. When they reached Belgrade, they found the town deserted. The people of the city had heard of the massacre in Semlin and had fled to the mountains. Peter’s army took advantage of this to pillage the city.

“When the townsfolk come back, they will find nothing,” Bruno reported bitterly to Ursula. “The city has been sacked completely.”

“Bringing more ill will upon us,” Ursula answered. “Our crimes are mounting, Bruno. When will we have to pay for them?”

“Soon, most likely,” he answered.

  *  *  *  

The successful eluding of the Hungarians and the sack of Belgrade combined to raise the spirits of the soldiers of the Crusade enormously. Confident now that the Hungarians would not be able to catch up to them, and assured that the Bulgarians were too fearful to deny them anything, they set out along the road to Nish triumphantly. They had to leave the Danube here, however, as it turned sharply eastward and the road to Constantinople lay more to the south. For the first time since leaving Cologne, they no longer had a river to carve a path for them. The way now lay through heavy forests with only the occasional clearing and village. At night wolves howled again, and the underbrush was alive with the sounds of animals hunting. Bears roamed these forests, and wild boar. One night, as they huddled around their fire, Ursula heard the scream of an animal somewhere in the blackness beyond their small circle of light. She shuddered and drew Verity close to her. Only that day, they had found a woman in hysterics in one of the tiny villages they had passed through. Wolves had taken her child, they said.

They reached Nish in seven days. By that time everyone was exhausted. The food they had stolen from Belgrade was gone and hunger once again became a daily way of life. It was a vast relief, then, to hear that, in spite of what they had done, the Crusaders were to be allowed to camp outside
the city for a few days, and the governor, Nicetas, would provide food for them. As security that there would be no repetition of the sacking and pillaging, however, he had taken two hostages: Geoffrey Burel and the Frankish Walter of Breteuil.

To Ursula’s surprise, no sooner had they made camp than the townspeople began to swarm in, bringing food and even alms to many of the poorer pilgrims. For the space of this short time, it seemed that sanity had returned to the world. With the food and rest, even Master William’s health began to rally. Ursula’s hopes rose as she saw him doing more and more of the daily tasks and becoming more cheerful. He even began to talk confidently again about their mission.

“We are over halfway to Constantinople, Daughter,” he said. “Soon we will be there and I will see it. The most wondrous city in the world, it is said. And then … then, on to Jerusalem. Is it not marvelous, Ursula? God’s will is surely with us. I am certain that the worst is over now.”

In all the time since they had fled from Semlin, they still had not seen Elizabeth. Ursula and Bruno began to fear she had been lost or killed. That night, however, she finally came, distraught, to their campsite.

“My daughter,” she cried as soon as she saw them. “How is she? Lemmet would not let me leave before—I think he thought I meant to flee in
all the confusion. I was so worried about her. Where is she? May I see her?”

“She is sleeping,” Ursula answered. “Let her be for now. She is well. I promise you,” she added quickly, putting out a restraining hand as Elizabeth made a move for the tent.

“Thank God for His mercy,” Elizabeth said. “But he wants her back. Now that calmer times seem to be upon us, Lemmet wants to start our concerts again and he wants Verity back to collect coins. He will not be denied.”

“Back?” Ursula was incredulous. A wave of hot, possessive anger swept over her. She could feel again Verity’s frail body pressed against her, see the terror in her eyes. “I nursed her and made her well. We protected her. I will not let her go back to that man!”

“He will come and take her. He will kill you if you do not let her return.” Elizabeth looked at Ursula desperately. “I mean what I say. He …” She stopped for a moment. “He has killed before,” she went on in a low voice. “I have seen it.”

“I can believe it,” Ursula spat out. “And he will probably kill Verity if she returns.”

“No! I’ll be more careful. Ill take better care of her.” Elizabeth’s whole body was shaking. “She’s my daughter!” she cried. “I’ll take care of her—I promise!”

“As you’ve taken care of her so far?”

Just then Verity heard her mother’s voice. With
a cry, she was out of the tent and into Elizabeth’s arms. Elizabeth clutched the child tightly to her and bent her head over her daughter’s. Her tears fell on the pale hair, her eyes implored Ursula.

“I will
not
let her go back,” Ursula said. Her voice was adamant.

In the end, Elizabeth was forced to give up and leave without the child. Watching her go, her shoulders bowed and shaking, Ursula was seized with pity. Then she tightened her lips and her face hardened. Lemmet was not going to beat Verity again, even if it cost Ursula her own life. She saw Bruno standing in the shadows, watching.

“You think I am cruel to that poor woman,” she said defensively. “What, then, would you have me do?”

“I know not,” he answered.

  *  *  *  

Geoffrey Burel and Walter of Breteuil were released; the company made ready to start on their trip again. As they took their place in the train, however, Ursula and Bruno were overrun by a large group of angry men. They pushed past on the narrow trail, stumbling against the wagon.

“Too good for their boots,” Ursula heard one of them grumble.

“Think they’re better than honest pilgrims, that they do,” another agreed.

They staggered as they strode by; their words were loud and slurred. Ursula realized they were drunk. They were filthy, their beards unkempt, and their clothes looked as if they had not been seen to for weeks. The red crosses that had been clumsily sewn on their shoulders hung in tatters, for the most part. Their voices rose as the grumbling turned to shouts—they were fueling each other with their anger, leading each other on. Several of them were carrying torches. At this point the road crossed the ford of a river. In the clearing around the ford sat a small mill.

“That’s the place!” one of the men suddenly shouted. “That’s the miller there who thought he was too fine for the likes of us!”

“Too fine for us, is he?” yelled another. “We’ll show him!”

At once, a chorus of shouts and insults rose into the air. With one accord the group of men turned away from the river and ran toward the mill, torches flaming. They threw two torches onto the thatched roof of the building, the others at and around the wooden sides.

Bruno had just led their horse into the river moments before the outcry began. He looked back, startled, but the current, weak though it was, took all his attention.

“What’s happening?” he called out to Ursula.

She twisted on the wagon seat to look, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“They’ve torched the mill!” she cried. “Those men! They’ve set fire to the mill!”

The building blazed up immediately. A woman carrying a baby ran out of it, two small children after her. A man followed. The man ran desperately to the river with a bucket, dipped it in, and ran back to throw water onto the flames. The effort was useless. Ursula watched helplessly from midstream while the men responsible fled and splashed noisily across. Not one other Crusader still on that side of the river made a move to aid the miller and his family.

Peter the Hermit and the leaders were already far up the road on the other side, well out of sight. There was no way they could know of what had happened; there was nothing Ursula and Bruno could do except maintain their place in the line of wagons. By the time they reached the other side of the river, the mill was enveloped in flames, beyond any hope of being saved. Ursula took up the reins, but she let the horse follow the others automatically. She, Bruno, and Master William watched the plume of black smoke rising until they were out of sight.

“Nicetas is a stern commander,” Bruno said finally. “He was more than patient with us, I think. More than forgiving. I fear he will not let this go unpunished.”

Nor did Nicetas wait long. Before noon of that day, a company of men rode furiously past them
toward the head of the train. Rumors flew back thick and fast. Nicetas had attacked the rearguard before they could ford the river. There had been fighting. He had taken hostages but was not satisfied with that—he was coming after them.

Ursula realized that the pace had quickened. She had to urge the reluctant horse almost to a trot to keep up. Then, suddenly, a cloud of dust arose from way in front of them. Hooves thundered. A whole section of Peter’s soldiers and guards, howling war cries, galloped back toward them, past them, and on to the rear to do battle with Nicetas.

After that all was thrown into confusion. The people panicked. Wagoneers urged their horses into a gallop and thundered past Ursula and Bruno, their wagons sometimes perilously close to colliding. The people on foot at the rear dropped their bundles of food and supplies as they ran to keep up.

Ursula whipped the horse on, but he was an old horse, not capable of more than what he was doing. Verity, behind her in the wagon, began to cry. Master William took her in his arms. It was a measure of her terror that she let him hold her—she had never let anyone but Ursula near her before. Samson cowered beside them.

“Bruno, what are we going to do?” Ursula whipped at the horse again, caught up in the panic.

“Hope the rearguard can hold off Nicetas’s forces,” Bruno answered grimly. “Make that horse go as fast as you can, Ursula!” He grabbed up a cudgel that he kept by the front seat of the wagon and turned to watch the road.

Behind them, as far as he could see, was a flood of terrified humanity. Ursula looked back quickly over her shoulder and saw a wagon suddenly lurch off the path and overturn. It was immediately overrun and submerged by the wave of running people. She urged the horse on again. By now the beast was going at as close to a gallop as he could. Their wagon was bouncing and jolting in the ruts so hard she feared they would turn over as well, but she dared not slacken the pace.

Suddenly screams broke out, just out of sight behind them. Then a band of Nicetas’s soldiers appeared. They rode through the running people, swords slashing mercilessly. People fell and were trampled by other people fleeing over them.

“Bruno!” All of Ursula’s concentration was required to keep the horse under control, but she couldn’t help another quick glance back. At that instant the soldiers reached the first of the wagons and Ursula, horrified, saw a soldier lean from his horse and slice his sword deep into the chest of the man who was driving it. The man collapsed and his horse, panicked by the noise and the smell of blood, bolted. Before Ursula could look away, it overran the wagon ahead of it and
charged into the horse that pulled it. Both horses went down; both wagons disintegrated in a confusion of splintering wood and screams.

The soldiers were checked by the wreckage, but only momentarily. They swung out around it and began to cut a new swath through the people on either side of it.

“Pull off!” Bruno shouted.

Ursula looked at him in astonishment.

“Pull off!” he shouted again. “We can’t outrun them—we’ve got to get away!” He pointed at the thick trees to the right of them. “Pull the wagon over as close as you can to the trees, then we’ll make a run for it!” He turned to Master William in the back. “Give me Verity as soon as we stop, Master,” he yelled. “You’ll have to jump off and run for the trees. Do you understand?”

The old man nodded. In all the confusion, he seemed almost calm. “Give this to Ursula,” he called back, and passed up his bag of herbs and medicines to Bruno. “We will need it.”

Ursula wrenched the reins to the right. The horse, too panic-stricken now to know what was happening, followed the command blindly. They jarred over the stubble that bordered the road. Ursula had a moment of fear that they wouldn’t be able to stop before they reached the trees. A vision of the wagon crashing into the thick forest rose sickeningly in her mind. Then, at the last possible second, she threw every ounce of
strength she had into pulling back on the reins.

“Whoa!
” she screamed. For one disastrous moment she thought they were lost. Then the horse swerved and finally halted, his sides heaving and soaked with sweat.

Bruno tossed her her father’s bag and in the same motion reached back for Verity. Ursula leaped off the wagon and reached up to help her father. The old man jumped down with surprising agility, Samson close behind. They tore for the trees.

They ran without stopping for breath, as far into the forest as they could, but they couldn’t outrun the screaming. It went on and on. Ursula dropped to her knees and covered her ears with her hands, but she couldn’t shut out the sound.

Finally it stopped. And then there was a deathly silence. Bruno, Master William, and Ursula stared at each other. Verity clung to Ursula.

“We must stay here until all danger is past,” Bruno said. They were well away from the road, but even so he whispered. Ursula nodded.

As night fell they huddled together, sheltering each other as best they could with their cloaks. They didn’t speak. Only Verity slept.