There Will Be Wolves (17 page)

“He gave me back the copper coins I had thrown at him, told me I must continue to serve him, and that he was being more than generous and fair with me.”

“What did you do?”

“I accepted them.”

  *  *  *  

They were shuttled across the shining expanse of the Bosphorus as quickly as possible and resettled at Civetot, on the shore of a wide plain that jutted out into the Sea of Marmora, a prudent distance away from Constantinople. There the emperor ordered them to wait until the main body of Crusaders, who had left Cologne at the appointed time, caught up with them. They were explicitly ordered not to penetrate any farther into Asia until the reinforcements arrived. The Crusaders did not obey.

One morning the camp was awakened by the commotion of a large party of soldiers riding in. Ursula stepped out of their makeshift shelter to see. The soldiers were well armed and rode fresh horses. Chain mail and harness fittings gleamed in the sunlight. At their lead rode a tall, dark-haired man astride a giant war-horse.

“That’s Walter Sans-Avoir!” Bruno exclaimed. “I like this not.”

A knot of foreboding formed itself in Ursula’s stomach.

Her fears were well grounded. With the arrival of this Crusader, who had shown himself to be so greedy and vicious, the soldiers in Peter’s party began to raid again. They began close to the camp, but with each success they ventured farther afield until they were pillaging and fighting in the lands of the Turks themselves.

Then, early one morning, came news that they had sacked villages in the very suburbs of Nicaea, the capital of the Turkish sultan himself. They had stolen herds and flocks and massacred all villagers who opposed them, Christian and Turkish alike. The Turks, enraged beyond all endurance, were marching on Civetot.

“They intend to murder us all!” the cry went out.

It was a group of Count Emil’s own men who came for Bruno. “Every able-bodied man must fight,” they shouted, as they pressed a sword into his hand. Bruno stared at it as if it were evil incarnate that he held. Ursula ran to his side.

“He cannot fight!” she cried. “He’s a stonemason—a builder of churches—not a soldier!”

“He’s a soldier today,” their leader laughed, and he prodded Bruno none too gently with his spear. “Follow us,” he commanded. He herded Bruno away with his horse. Bruno turned for one quick, agonized look at Ursula, and then was pushed out of sight.

Ursula stood, staring after them unbelievingly. All around the camp the same scene was taking place. Men shouted in anger, women shrieked, but all to no avail. Before the sun had fully risen, the whole army of Crusaders had marched out of the camp. All that were left behind were old men, women, children, the sick, and the priests.

  *  *  *  

“Ursula! What’s going to happen?” Elizabeth, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, came up behind her. Verity clung to her skirts as she had done when Ursula had first seen them.

“I don’t know.” She reached automatically to comfort the child, but her eyes were fixed on the road down which Bruno had disappeared.

They didn’t have long to wonder. A scant few hours after the Crusaders left, dust on the road in the distance drew everyone’s attention. Almost immediately, they could hear shouts and screams. A horde of charging horses and men running on foot suddenly appeared, tearing back toward the camp as if their lives depended on it—as they did. Behind them now appeared a terrifying spectacle. The Turkish army was pursuing the Crusaders, swords drawn and flashing, arrows flying through the air. In the sunlight their cloaks and turbans shone in a rainbow of colors—the glint of silver and gold was dazzling.

Ursula only had time for one horrified look before the mob was upon them. With the sea at their backs, there was no place to run. Verity was by her. She scooped her up into her arms. Elizabeth jumped up from the fire where she had been sitting and ran to them. They shrank back against a tree and clutched each other.

The whole world seemed to explode into noise around Ursula. She held tightly to Elizabeth and Verity and buried her face in Verity’s hair. The child was shrieking—a high-pitched, shrill, unceasing sound that cut through the screams and the deafening war cries around them. Ursula felt herself hit by the shoulder of a horse. She staggered and would have fallen had it not been for Elizabeth. She dared a look up and saw a swollen, raging face under a scarlet turban. The Turk’s horse was charging straight at them, his scimitar flashing down toward them in a curving gleam of light. She shut her eyes and cringed, waiting for the blow.

Elizabeth made a queer, muffled noise and suddenly crumpled. Unprepared for it, Ursula lost her balance as well. She toppled heavily onto Verity, Elizabeth fell onto her. Verity’s shrieks stopped as suddenly as if cut off. Ursula lay, face pressed into the ground, waiting for the final blow. Horses’ hooves thundered by her ear, she could feel the vibration of their impact on the earth in front of her face. Another jolt shook her
body, but, strangely, she felt no pain. Verity was quiet. Too quiet. Ursula didn’t know if she had fainted or had been killed. She moved to take some of her weight off the child, but then froze back into stillness as she heard yet another horseman charging toward them. This time the horse leaped over their pile of bodies, one rear hoof sending dirt flying on top of them.

Gradually the screams and cries died down. Ursula still didn’t dare move. There was silence and then the sound of horses’ hooves again. Ursula opened her eyes and tried to see what was going on without moving her head. All she could see around her were bodies—bodies lying silent and still. A group of Turkish horsemen rode into her view. One rode directly toward her. As he approached, Ursula closed her eyes again. She didn’t even dare breathe as she sensed the man on horseback looming over them. After what seemed like an impossible length of time, she heard him move off.

Still she lay frozen. It wasn’t until the noises were long gone that she dared open her eyes again. As soon as she moved, Verity began to whimper. The child was crushed under her and must have been near suffocation. Carefully, Ursula pushed aside the weight on top of her and eased Verity out from underneath. She cast her eyes around continuously, on the alert for any signs of returning horsemen, but there was nothing.
Suddenly the realization dawned on her that the weight she had pushed aside was Elizabeth. The woman was lying beside her now, sprawled in an ungainly position. Ursula knelt to feel for the pulse in her throat, but as she did so she realized it was useless. At the same time, Verity sat up and saw her mother. Then she looked at Ursula’s face. She screamed, and screamed again. Ursula reached up a hand to her own cheek. It was covered in blood. Elizabeth’s blood.

Ursula reached for Verity and held her tightly. The child struggled futilely and screamed without ceasing. Ursula clutched her even more strongly, and hid Verity’s face against her breast. She heard a weird, keening sound. It took several moments for her to realize that it was she, herself, who was making it.

U
rsula was brought back to reality by a cold nose thrusting itself into the palm of her hand. At first she wasn’t even aware of it, but finally a low whining forced its way through to her consciousness.

“Samson!”

The dog cowered beside her. He was covered with dirt. There was no way of knowing how he had survived the battle, but it seemed he had. He licked Verity’s hand, but the child, who had stopped struggling and now lay limp in Ursula’s arms, made no response.

Suddenly, Ursula became aware of a man standing a few feet away from them, staring at them. She clutched at Verity and cringed away from him, but he stood as if not really conscious of where he was, his face blank. With a feeling of unbelief, Ursula recognized Bruno.

“Thank God,” she managed to get out. “You’re alive!”

“Are you all right?” He spoke the words slowly, through stiff lips.

“Verity and I are. Elizabeth …” She choked.

Bruno knelt beside the body and, still as if in a daze, gently smoothed the matted hair back from Elizabeth’s brow.

It was only then that Ursula looked around. The carnage on the road to Sophia was as nothing compared to the sight that now met her eyes. The field was covered with bodies. Nowhere else was there any sign of movement. The waves that lapped at the shore behind her ran red, and corpses floated aimlessly in them, bumping onto the stones of the beach, then drifting back out again. She looked back up at Bruno helplessly.

“Is
everyone
dead?” she whispered.

“Nearly all,” Bruno answered. “Peter the Hermit survived—he was in Constantinople with the emperor. A few of the other nobles and their men escaped and have taken refuge in a tower. They are hoping to be rescued.”

“And the Turks?”

“They have withdrawn.”

“Count Emil—what of him?” The questions were automatic. Ursula’s mind was still blank with the horror of it all.

“Dead. I saw him fall myself.”

“So this is the end of it?” Verity stirred in her arms and she clasped her ever more tightly.

“This is the end of it.”

“What shall we do?”

“I have two horses. We can flee to the tower and take refuge there with the others, or we can take the horses and try to make our own way home.”

“Where …? Where did you get horses?” Ursula was still deep in shock. It was hard to make sense of what Bruno was saying.

Bruno shrugged. “I stole them. From one who had no more need of them.”

“Oh,” Ursula answered dully. “Yes. Of course.” Then Bruno’s words seemed to sink in. “I don’t want to go to the tower with the others, Bruno. I want no more to do with any part of this Crusade.”

“I feel the same,” Bruno said. He stood up and passed his hand over his brow as if to wipe it clear. “We’ll make our own way back, then.”

They buried Elizabeth under the tree where they had been standing. Without tools, they had to scrape at the earth with their hands and could only manage the shallowest of graves, but they did the best they could and covered it with stones picked up from the beach.

“We should have a priest,” Ursula said.

“There are none left alive,” Bruno answered.

Ursula closed her eyes and bowed her head. “God bless her,” she whispered. “God’s grace be
upon her and receive her into Heaven.” Such a short life. Such an unhappy one.

  *  *  *  

Alone, the three of them made much better time than had the full party. That was fortunate because winter was almost upon them now and they had to cross back through the mountains before the snow came. People were kind to them and took pity on them. They gave them food, shelter for the night, and even clothes for Verity. Ursula accepted everything offered with a mute thankfulness. Pride was no longer an emotion she could afford. As the days passed, however, she became more and more distraught. The child, Verity, would not speak. Ursula tried to talk to Bruno about it, but after the horror of the battle at Civetot, he had withdrawn into himself until it was almost as if he were a stranger to her. During the day he did what was necessary for them, but at nightfall he wrapped himself in his cloak and sat by the fire for hours, staring into the flames. Nothing Ursula said seemed to reach him; most of the time it seemed he did not even notice if he ate or slept. He bore no wounds on his body from the battle, but Ursula feared he bore his wounds on his soul instead.

One evening they heard the wolves again. The weather was cold and clear, and the sound carried
piercingly to them. Ursula reached down to tuck Verity’s blanket more securely around her and then drew her own more closely around herself. She shuddered.

“Wolves!” she exclaimed. “I hate them!” She looked up at the dark masses of the woods behind them. Trunks and branches of trees were etched against the darkening sky like jagged scars of black lightning. The wolves called again.

“Wolves are much maligned beasts, I think,” Bruno said suddenly. “They are loyal to their own kind and only kill out of necessity to live. That is more than can be said of men.”

Ursula was startled. It was the first he had spoken for days, but the words were heavy with bitterness and cold with contempt. It sounded nothing like the Bruno of old at all. She drew a deep breath.

“During the battle, Bruno …” she said hesitantly, afraid of what she was going to ask. “Did you have to kill?”

“Yes,” he answered. “In spite of all that I believed, in spite of God’s holy will, I killed. When I was about to be killed—I killed first.”

In the light of the fire, Ursula saw that his face was bleak.

“But you
had
to,” she said. “You were forced to. Surely God will forgive you. You are not like the others!”

“Am I not?” Bruno asked. “I think I am. I think
I have no right even to ask for forgiveness.”

“No, Bruno—you must not think that. Look what you have done for us. Without you we would most certainly have perished. Pray! God will forgive you—I know he will.”

“I cannot pray.”

  *  *  *  

A short while after Yuletide they saw the walls of Cologne in the distance, church towers rising above them. The first snow was finally falling. The bells of Cologne were ringing. They were home.

But what was home? Ursula’s heart sank when they rode down the street of the apothecaries and came in sight of her house. It was just as they had left it—a pile of burned-out rubble.

As they stood there, staring, Mistress Ingrid bustled out of her house, her eyes starting from her head at the sight of them.

“It’s like seeing someone back from the dead!” she exclaimed. “We’d heard you’d all been murdered by the heathen—truth to tell, I never expected to see you again! But I kept an eye on things for you, just as I promised your father I would. You’ll find all as you left it. I even fed your cat for you.” She smirked with satisfaction.

The cat chose that moment to slink out of the ruins. Samson let out a bark and rushed after it joyfully. Ursula looked at Mistress Ingrid warily.

“And Master William,” the woman burbled on. “Where is he?”