The Black Sheep

by Peter Darman

  Corberan and Count Michael kept their men under tight control. They had already been engaged in a fierce battle and many of their soldiers were riding blown horses. But their appearance had a dramatic effect on the ghazis, who fled before them, passing the Almogavars who began to whistle and jeer at them as they fled back towards the hills. But the Catalans did not pursue. They too were tired and thirsty, many falling to their knees in prayer to give thanks for their deliverance. For surely God had intervened to save the Catalan Company, which was on a crusade to save the believers from the infidels.

  *****

  Izzeddin Arslan calmly walked back to where his élite ghazi soldiers stood at the edge of the forest in a great phalanx, their commander saluting him smartly.

  ‘The infidel horsemen have arrived to save the kafirs.’

  ‘My men stand ready, lord.’

  Izzeddin flicked a bony hand at him. ‘We have been betrayed, that much is certain. The governor of Soma has failed Allah, so I will not waste the lives of His warriors after such treachery.’

  Already ghazis were flooding from the trees to take shelter behind the hundreds of mail-clad soldiers standing to attention in the meadow at the base of the hills they had made their initial approach from.

  ‘The Christians might launch an attack against us, lord.’

  Izzeddin shook his head. ‘No, their foot soldiers are exhausted like my brave ghazis and their horsemen will wish to stop and boast of their so-called achievement. We will withdraw through the hills and pray for those who are now in paradise.’

  Yakub I Alisir, the Governor of Soma, was one of Karesi Bey’s most loyal and effective administrators. Like many high-ranking Muslims, he drank alcohol and had acquired a taste for the trappings of wealth. He tolerated Christians and Jews in his town and viewed the zealotry of the ghazis with disdain. But he was also proud and ambitious, and when Izzeddin approached him with a plan to destroy the invading Christian mercenaries, he jumped at the chance. A two-pronged attack against the infidels was an ambitious plan, but Izzeddin assured him that his ghazis would do the majority of the fighting, aware Karesi Bey had forbidden his governor to engage the invaders. All the governor had to do was lead his horsemen and foot soldiers north from the town in the early morning to provide the coup de grâce against the infidels. It was easy to convince a man who had been jealous of the holy man’s success at Bergama to disobey his lord, to dangle the prospect of military glory before his eyes.

  Unfortunately for Yakub I Alisir, his actions were too tardy to catch the Catalan Company by surprise. His column of horse and foot was spotted by Corberan’s scouts, and knowing that his Almogavars were difficult to kill, Grand Duke Roger persuaded Count Michael to join him with his horsemen to attack the column. The Muslims fought well, and for a while the outcome was in the balance. But the sudden attack against the column meant the governor could not utilise his horse archers to full effect, and the Christian horsemen were able to get among the foot soldiers, resulting in great disorder and loss.

  Yakub I Alisir stayed until the end, attempting to rally his men as the tide of battle turned against him. He did not lack for courage, but courage alone rarely wins battles. His horse killed under him, he refused a remount, electing instead to remain with what remained of his foot soldiers. The Governor of Soma died on the Roman road two miles to the north of his town, a loss Karesi Bey would have regarded as a futile waste. But for Izzeddin Arslan, it was indicative of the ungodly men the emir was surrounding himself, which was losing him Allah’s support. And a ruler without the help of God was lost in every way.

  Chapter 12

  Luca and the rest of the Catalan Company spent a day marching following the battle, followed by two days resting and recuperating. Grand Duke Roger, on the advice of Count Michael, moved the company off the road and into the hills in a westerly direction, away from Soma and also Bergama, the capital of the Karesi Emirate. This was to both guard against any retaliation launched against the Catalans and to reach Philadelphia as quickly as possible. The shortest route to the city was directly south, but that would risk leaving hostile forces to the north, as well as having to fight at least another battle against the forces of the so-called Germiyanid Emirate, which was laying siege to Philadelphia.

  Luca, stripped naked, plunged into the lake where hundreds of others were bathing in the cool waters. It was a hot day in the hills of Anatolia, but the water was ice-cold, initially taking his breath away. But after a few moments his body adapted and he let his tired limbs be massaged by the intoxicating water. It was the first time he had had a bath in months, though Ayna had insisted they both have strip-washes even during the coldest months, which had inevitably led to long periods of lovemaking afterwards. He smiled at the memory.

  ‘Count Michael has sent his horsemen to scour the land for game,’ said Jordi, shaking his head after immersing it in the water. ‘I pray God they come back with some meat.’

  Meat did not constitute a large part of the Almogavar diet, but in the aftermath of battle they had consumed most of the meagre rations in their bags to replenish their energy reserves. And there had been no enemy camp to plunder in the aftermath of their victory. As a result, hunger began to stalk the Catalan Company. The horses could be grazed on the lush meadows dotted among the hills, as well as the grass on the slopes themselves. But for soldiers on the march, the countryside provided scant food aside from roots, berries and fruit. It was made worse by the winter that had killed a lot of the wildlife. At least Sancho Rey had ordered that the lake be fished, which so far had produced no tangible results.

  ‘Where are the Alans?’ asked Luca, a question on everyone’s lips.

  The wild mercenary horsemen had been conspicuous by their absence, which aroused the anger of many among the Almogavars. Everyone knew how they had deserted the Romans in battle, and now they had more or less done the same to the Catalans. It did not bode well for the future.

  ‘It is Luca, is it not?’

  He looked towards the bank to see a priest standing beside the water, dressed in a long black woollen gown, a wooden crucifix suspended by a simple cord around his neck. Luca had seen Father Ramon on numerous occasions. He was among the small number of priests accompanying the Almogavars, all being Catalans like the soldiers they preached to. Since his unhappy experience in Rometta, however, his opinion of religion and priests in general had dropped and he had avoided holy men. Luca nodded.

  Father Ramon smiled. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you?’

  He looked at Jordi who gave a shrug. He waded from the water to stand naked before the priest, who unusually for a Catalan had blue eyes. Those eyes stared unblinkingly at Luca.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to put your clothes on.’

  Luca flopped down on the ground on his back.

  ‘I will let the sun dry my skin first, Father Ramon.’

  His tone was sharp. He was now a veteran of three battles, and while that was no boast among a company that had fought countless battles, long gone were the days when a priest could cower him into submission. Ramon sat on the ground cross-legged beside him, staring at the shimmering waters of the lake.

  ‘You are famous, Black Sheep,’ he began. ‘Many among the Almogavars believe you to be a lucky mascot, the more so after you and Jordi Rey rescued the Princess Maria in Constantinople.’

  ‘We were in the right place at the right time,’ said Luca.

  ‘Or perhaps God placed you both in the right place so you could render invaluable service to the princess,’ opined Ramon. ‘Do you think about God, Luca?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Ramon took a sharp intake of breath. He was used to dealing with blunt, coarse Catalan soldiers. But still.

  ‘He is thinking of you, Luca,’ said Ramon, ‘especially your immortal soul. You purchased a Muslim woman as a slave last year, I believe.’

  Tension seeped through Luca’s body. He jumped up and grabbed his leggings, pulling them on, afterwards his shir
t and zamarra. He glanced at his weapons lying near his feet.

  ‘What of it?’

  Ramon calmly stood and faced him. ‘You are entitled to take Muslim slaves, of course. It is your right as a Christian warrior. However, I have heard that your slave is in fact your lover, which greatly alarms me.’

  Luca picked up his sword belt and strapped it on.

  ‘You think she might try to murder me in my sleep, father?’

  ‘My fear is greater. I fear she will entice you into the Muslim heresy, which will damn your soul for all eternity.’

  He buckled his belt and picked up his quiver of javelins.

  ‘She has not tried to convert me, father, and nor will she.’

  Ramon gave a him a supercilious smile.

  ‘Satan adopts many guises, Luca. The entire Muslim faith is but one of his manifestations, and those who follow that foul religion are nothing more than the Devil’s agents on earth.’

  ‘Then you should be pleased I have been killing many of them.’

  Ramon pressed a bony finger in his chest. Like all men who subsisted on a pious priest’s diet of coarse bread, vegetables and beans, he had a lean almost gaunt frame and sunken cheeks.

  ‘You should desist regarding this woman, this heretic, as a lover and treat her like the slave she is.’

  Luca swatted away his hand. ‘I will do as I please, Father Ramon, and if I offend God doing so, then he will surely strike me down.’

  ‘You speak blasphemy,’ spat Ramon.

  Luca secured his quiver of javelins in place.

  ‘Have you heard of a lord named Giovanni Carafa, Father Ramon?’

  ‘I have heard of him, yes.’

  ‘He is a Christian lord who murdered my parents before thousands of witnesses, and yet I saw no priests stepping forward to stop his crime. You yourself were there among the Almogavars, and yet you did nothing. What right do you have to accuse me of blasphemy when you were silent when murder was committed before your very eyes?’

  Ramon folded his arms across his scrawny chest.

  ‘I have often wondered why you were given the title Black Sheep, but I see now it is entirely appropriate. Just as a black sheep is a portent of evil, I wonder if we have clasped a viper to our breast, just as our Lord welcomed Judas into his family?’

  ‘I’ll make this agreement with you, father. You take measures to bring Count Carafa to account, and I will obey your command regarding my lover.’

  Ramon, unused to being talked to in such a manner, bristled in the face of Luca’s rebellious tongue. But he resisted the urge to threaten the Italian with ruin and damnation, not least because he sincerely believed he would be impaled on one of the two spears lying on the ground nearby. So, he coolly made the sign of the cross at Luca, turned and walked away without saying a word.

  Jordi, who had exited the water and also dressed, stood beside his friend.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘To try to convince me to treat Ayna as a slave. He did not like my reply.’

  ‘You should be wary of Father Ramon. He can make great trouble for you if he so desires.’

  ‘What trouble?’

  ‘Nothing on campaign. But when we return to Artake, he could accuse Ayna of witchcraft. And you know what that means.’

  ‘If he did, I will kill him myself.’

  Jordi was stunned. ‘To kill a priest is to risk eternal damnation, Luca.’

  ‘As I told Father Ramon, if I have offended God, then the Lord has had many opportunities to strike me down by using the weapons of the enemy to cut me to pieces. So far, I have escaped unscathed, which suggests to me the Lord is not unduly upset with me. Come on, let’s get something to eat.’

  The Alans returned the next day, Arabates and his mounted rascals riding into camp with quantities of plundered grain, wine and cheese, which they offered to share with the Almogavars. Count Michael and Grand Duke Roger would have liked to place the Alan leader under arrest for his dereliction of duty, but thought better of it as they were heading ever deeper into enemy territory.

  The company saw no one as it snaked across green hills and bypassed rocky crags, heading first west and then south. The days were getting warmer but a pleasant breeze each day made marching bearable. Less tolerable was the constant hunger pain that gripped Luca as he fast-walked across empty meadows and through pine forests, his food bag almost empty. So bad was the situation that the column was forced to halt for a day so everyone could collect madimak, a type of edible grass native to the Anatolian plateau, which could be turned into a soup.

  It took five days to traverse the meadows, forests and hills, each day large parties of horsemen being sent ahead as scouts to reconnoitre the route and scour the land for supplies. They returned in the late afternoon with scant food and reported the uplands to be free of enemy soldiers. Roman watchtowers and outposts lay abandoned, most being in a state of disrepair, relics of a bygone era when the emperors of Constantinople had ruled the land all the way east to the River Euphrates, and south to Syria and Egypt.

  On the sixth day the Catalan Company, now resembling ravenous wolves after its soldiers had consumed all their supplies and anything in their path, which in truth was little, arrived in the hills to the north of Philadelphia. The city itself lay in the fertile Cogamus Valley, at the foot of Mount Tmolus. Watered by many streams running off the high ground, the valley was a narrow, hundred-mile strip of abundance. The company made camp in the rolling countryside north of the valley, well out of sight of any Muslim mounted patrols in the valley or on its northern slopes.

  Luca was called to Grand Duke Roger’s tent as the sun began its slow descent in the western sky, casting long shadows as it dropped behind tall peaks in the distance. There were no pleasing aromas of food being cooked as he made his way through the rows of horses, stands of weapons and circular tents of the horsemen of Count Michael. The tent of Grand Duke Roger was a rather austere rectangular affair that had seen better days, its walls showing several patches covering rips and holes. The Almogavar guards standing sentry outside nodded to Luca when he stopped at the entrance to the tent, one darting inside to announce his arrival.

  ‘Get yourself in here,’ came Sancho’s brusque order.

  The Almogavar leader had black rings around his eyes, his hair and beard were long and unkempt, and his temper was short. Like the others, he sat on a stool for there was no table or other ornaments. Only things that could be carried on the backs of mules and packhorses had been brought on this campaign. Arabates raised a thin eyebrow when Luca stood to attention before the commanders. One of his Alan soldiers stood next to him to translate the Italian and Spanish words spoken by the others, for the illiterate Arabates had no knowledge of either language.

  Count Michael, who had no stubble on his chin and whose hair was well groomed, also had tired eyes and a drawn expression. Only Grand Duke Roger seemed of good cheer.

  ‘You are well, Black Sheep?’

  ‘Well, lord, thank you.’

  ‘Father Ramon has been tormenting my ears about your Muslim lover, Black Sheep.’

  Luca’s expression hardened but Roger took the sting out of any rising anger.

  ‘I did not summon you here to discuss the rights and wrongs of carnal relations with Muslims, but I am interested in their prayer rituals. Tell me, your woman…’

  ‘Ayna is her name, lord.’

  Sancho glared at him but Roger merely smiled.

  ‘Can you tell me the precise times Ayna prays to her god?’ asked Roger.

  Luca saw the Alan babbling into Arabates’ ear as he recounted Ayna’s prayer times.

  ‘At dawn, midday, in the late part of the afternoon, just after sunset, and between sunset and midnight, lord.’

  ‘I am surprised she has time for anything else,’ joked Roger.

  A wry smile creased Luca’s lips as he thought of the long winter nights they had spent wrapped around each other. The sharp-nosed Arabates was talking to his translator, who t
hen spoke to Luca.

  ‘My lord wants to know what you will do if you produce a bastard by this Muslim woman. What will you call such a mongrel child?’

  Arabates gave Luca a superior leer.

  ‘An Alan,’ replied Luca. ‘For what are they but landless half-breeds?’

  Grand Duke Roger and Sancho roared with laughter and Count Michael winced. But Arabates growled with anger, jumped to his feet and drew his sword at the insult. Luca also unsheathed his weapon.

  ‘Halt,’ shouted Sancho, also rising to his feet. ‘Put that sword away and get out, Luca.’

  He placed himself between Luca and Arabates, Count Michael talking to the Alan leader in his native tongue in an effort to calm him. Grand Duke Roger remained seated and caught Luca’s eye, giving him a wink but waving him away. Luca slid the sword back in its scabbard and exited the tent, pleased with himself that he had defended Ayna’s honour. He had no idea why he had been summoned to the meeting to impart the timing of his lover’s prayers.

  He found out later that day when the order was given to quit camp and move south through the trees that blanketed the slopes of the northern ridge of the Cogamus Valley. The Almogavars moved fast, eager to traverse the forest before the light faded and made movement among the trees treacherous. Luca had nothing in his food bag and felt very hungry. Around him dozens of other Catalans were grumbling about the lack of food.

  ‘Silence,’ hissed Sancho, who in the half-light of the forest appeared even more gaunt than earlier. ‘Enemy scouts can hear as well as see.’

  Jordi, also hungry, had sunk into a sullen silence, his mood prickly. Men slipped or tripped on branches and cursed under their breaths as the Catalans descended the slope leading to the valley below, the forest eerily silent as thousands of men and hundreds of horses moved through the trees. The Alans and Count Michael’s horsemen led their mounts on foot, and it was testament to the skill with which they did so that Luca did not hear a single whinny or squeal from a horse. But the rumblings in his stomach threatened to echo through the trees so loud were they.