Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  Ranulph pulled off the Arab headcloth, laughing. 'Have I changed so much in a few weeks?'

  Beppo jumped down onto the sand and embraced him. 'Ranulph! You did it! How many camels?'

  'Twenty. Enough spices and precious stones to bring us both a good profit when we get back to Amafi.'

  'And how many went to Alexandria?'

  'Four. I couldn't talk those men into changing their route.'

  'Four!' Beppo chortled with unholy glee. 'They will have been expecting five times that number. How did you do it?'

  Ranulph eased stiff muscles. 'Can we talk later? We need to unload the camels and send them back to their owners. And I need a drink!'

  When the cargo was loaded and the camel drivers had been paid off, Ranulph and Beppo sat on the aft castle deck with beakers of Beppo's finest wine.

  'You know,' Beppo said, 'I think you should consider changing your name.'

  'Why? What's wrong with Ranulph?'

  'I wasn't thinking of that. It's the Ironhand bit I mean. I think instead of main de fer you should be called main d'or. Everything you touch seems to turn to gold.'

  'Golden hand?' Ranulph laughed. 'I like it – but I seem to remember a story about a king who had that ability and he ended up starving to death.'

  'Well, I'll see that doesn't happen to you,' Beppo said. Then, more seriously, 'At least half of this is yours. I don't know if you realise it but you are going to be a very rich man. What do you intend to do with your money?'

  Ranulph took a sip of wine. 'I want to send most of it to my old captain in Bruges. I learned in Alexandria that he has fallen on hard times, and I owe him that, at least. Can it be done?'

  'Of course. When we send our spices to Bruges my agent there will sell them. Send him a message, telling him how much you want to give and who to send it to. He will deduct it from the profit before remitting the rest to us.'

  'Good. I need to be sure that he is not left in poverty.'

  'That is for you to decide. But there is a project I should like you to consider for the remainder.'

  'Go on.'

  'I suggest we invest in a second ship. There is money to be made trading in spices from Alexandria and in silk from Antioch. Two ships would mean we can exploit both markets. How do you fancy being captain of your own vessel?'

  Months later a letter reached Ranulph.

  To Ranulph, once of Erbistock in England, now residing in Amalfi; from Piet Joossens of Bruges.

  My dear friend,

  Words cannot express my gratitude for your generous gift. It has enabled me to invest in a new venture and given us the prospect of an end to the penury we have suffered in recent years. It has also given us the great comfort of knowing that you are well and prospering.

  You should know that we have never blamed you for what happened. Dirk came home that night, much bruised, and told us that you had set upon him without warning, but Beatrix refused to believe him. She tracked down one of his rich friends, who confessed that he had lent Dirk two swords so that he could challenge you. The fact that he suffered no more than bruises at your hands is testament to your good intentions. Then, years later, Beatrix met the same man with his new wife, who was wearing Mariella's silver necklace. When challenged, he explained that Dirk had given it to him in payment of gambling debts. No doubt the money that disappeared at the same time was used for the same purpose. It was then that we decided it would be better for Dirk to seek his fortune elsewhere and I made arrangements for him to go south with a fellow merchant. Since then, we have had no news of him, other than that contained in the letter that accompanied your gift.

  If you should ever find the time to revisit your old home in Bruges, please be assured that you will be welcomed with open arms by your loving friends, Piet and Mariella. God keep you and prosper you in all things.

  22.

  Antioch 1089.

  Ranulph stood on the aft castle of the Buonafortuna as the ship master brought the galley alongside the wharf in the port of St Symeon. His gaze followed the curve of the Orontes River to where the walls of Antioch were outlined against the eastern sky as they climbed the crest of Mt Silpius. He smiled at the sight. This was familiar territory. Since his first visit with Beppo four years ago he had returned twice aboard the Santa Christina and more recently in command of his own ship. He had always liked the city, with its polyglot population, its busy markets and its long history. The Byzantines had left their own marks on the city and the Seljuk Turks who had taken it from them some four years earlier were having their own influence, but it seemed to Ranulph to have retained its unique ambience and its population of Armenians, Greeks and Turks existed in harmony, unaffected by the rise and fall of empires.

  The city was known as the cradle of Christianity, and tradition held that the inhabitants had been converted by St Peter himself. Certainly St Paul had passed there; and the number of ancient churches bore testament to that faith. Ranulph recognised that his reaction to this was ambiguous. All his life he had felt himself exiled from the church, yet buried deep within his soul was a yearning for the certainties he had known as a child. But these churches did not belong to Rome and owed no allegiance to the Pope, and the Armenian Christianity they represented seemed to him kinder and less threatening. He was glad to be back – but he had a special reason for looking forward to this visit.

  Having supervised the unloading of his cargo of German copper and French linen and fustian and arranged for its transport to his warehouse, he hired a horse and rode up the river to the Bridge Gate. He never ceased to be impressed by the massive walls which surrounded the city with their many towers, or by the beauty and variety of the buildings within them. He made his way to one of the best inns and commanded a private room; then headed straight for the nearest bath house. An hour later, oiled and perfumed and barbered, he arrived at the door of a substantial house in the upper part of the city. His knock was answered by a plump porter, who greeted him with delight and ushered him through to a shady terrace overlooking the rooftops. A man in later middle age, dressed in a robe embroidered with silk threads, rose to greet him.

  'Ranulph! You are returned to us. Welcome!'

  'Dmitri! It is good to see you. Are you well?'

  'Well enough. Age is not kind to old bones.'

  'Come, you are not old! And you look as fit as ever.'

  At Dmitri's invitation he sat and a servant brought wine and for a few minutes they talked of business. Dmitri was an Armenian silk merchant and Ranulph had dealt with him on his previous visits to Antioch, establishing a relationship of mutual trust which had served both of them well. But that evening Ranulph's mind was not wholly on the matter in hand. Rapid footsteps sounded on the tiled floor of the hallway and a young man appeared in the doorway. He had his father's strong, straight nose and broad cheekbones, but his thick dark hair showed no sign of the silver that streaked the older man's hair and beard.

  Ranulph rose and they embraced warmly. 'Firouz! How are you?'

  'Well. And you? No need to ask. You look fitter and richer than ever. You're getting fat!'

  'I am not!'

  'Is it really a year since you were last here?'

  'Very nearly. I came a little earlier this summer.'

  'How long can you stay?'

  'A week or two. I'm in no particular hurry.'

  'Excellent. We'll go hunting.'

  They were interrupted by the entrance of a young woman. Ranulph turned to greet her and something deep within him gave a shudder of excitement. One year on, she was more beautiful than ever.

  Firouz said happily, 'Mariam, see? We have a visitor.'

  The girl lowered her eyes and dipped a curtsy, but not before Ranulph had seen the same spark of pleasure in her gaze. In her face the strong bone structure was softened but she had the same almond shaped eyes beneath level brows as her brother. She wore a round, high-crowned cap with a fringe of silver discs and underneath her veil her long dark hair fell in waves almost to her waist.
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  He bowed. 'Mariam. I'm so happy to see you again.'

  She gave him her hand to kiss and murmured 'We are always glad to welcome you back, seigneur.'

  Dmitri said, 'Ranulph, you'll stay for dinner? Mariam, can we find something special for our visitor?'

  'I have already spoken to the cook, father,' the girl replied. Beneath her lashes she flashed Ranulph a look that told him that she had been aware of his arrival from the moment he set foot in the house – perhaps even sooner than that – and had made preparations accordingly. Her mother had died when she was twelve and since then she had taken over the ordering of the household, and carried it out with quiet efficiency.

  Over dinner talk moved from trade to the wider perspective of Mediterranean affairs. There was some discussion of the threats to Constantinople from the Seljuk Turks on one side and the barbarian Pechenegs on the other, and of the personality and abilities of the Emperor Alexios. There was also the expansion of the Norman conquests in the west, which now included most of Sicily.

  'I hear rumours that pilgrims are being harassed and impeded by the Turks on their way to Jerusalem,' Ranulph remarked.

  'Sadly that appears to be true, to some extent,' Dmitri responded. 'Though I suspect that the stories are being exaggerated. On the whole, we have found our new rulers to be reasonably civilised. They are no longer the wild nomads they were a generation ago.'

  He was interrupted by the sound of raised voices from the kitchen quarters across the courtyard, followed by a scream of pain. Mariam rose quickly.

  'I must go and see what is happening.'

  The noises had raised the alarm in Ranulph's mind, and he rose too. 'I will come with you, if I may.'

  'Of course.'

  In the kitchen they found a scene of confusion. The cook, a small, hairy man with a very high colour, was being held by two of the serving men. His apron was drenched in blood and on the floor in front of him lay a long knife, also bloodstained. Two kitchen maids were sobbing and clinging to each other in a corner and in the centre of the floor lay a young man. He was clutching his upper arm and red blood was pulsing between his fingers.

  Mariam ran to kneel beside him. 'He's badly hurt! We must get him to the hospital at once.'

  Ranulph was already on his knees opposite her, pulling off his belt. 'No time for that. He will bleed to death before he gets there.'

  He wrapped the belt around the man's arm and slipped the end through the buckle. Then he pulled it as tight as possible. The man cried out, but in a few seconds the blood flow was reduced to a trickle. Ranulph looked at Mariam.

  'This must be loosened from time to time, otherwise the arm will begin to die. Do you have cloth for bandages?'

  'Of course.' She looked up. 'You two girls, stop that noise and do something useful. Bring water and clean linen.'

  Ranulph drew his dagger and split the sleeve of the wounded man's tunic, exposing a long gash. He looked at Mariam.

  'You are not afraid of the sight of blood?'

  She met his eyes with a slight lift of her brows. 'I am a woman. Why should I be afraid of blood?'

  The serving girl dropped to her knees beside her with a bowl of water and strips of linen.

  Ranulph said, 'Pour some vinegar into the water. It will help to cleanse the wound. Do you have any oil of roses?'

  Both were quickly forthcoming and he swabbed the wound and reached for the linen. 'Mariam, can you lift his arm so I can bandage it?'

  She leaned across and did as he requested, and for a moment their hands touched and he met her eyes again. The message that was transmitted was clear to them both. Then he dropped his gaze and concentrated on binding the wound. When it was done he eased the tension on the belt and the linen was quickly dark with blood. He tightened the tourniquet again and said, 'You mentioned a hospital. Can it be relied upon to do what is necessary? This wound needs to be stitched.'

  'Yes,' she answered. 'It is run by a man called Ibn Butlan, a wise man who has travelled widely but returned here to set up his hospital. We have great faith in him.'

  'Then let this man be taken there,' Ranulph said. 'I have done all I can do.'

  Mariam gave orders and a litter was brought, and the man was given into the charge of two of the men servants. When they had departed Ranulph turned his attention to the cook, who was whimpering in a corner.

  'What happened here?'

  The story came out in several different voices, all eager to add their version, but the final conclusion was clear. The cook had lost his temper with the wounded man, who was his assistant, for adding too much salt to a soup he was making. Angry words had followed, but when the assistant reached across to take the saucepan, the cook had knocked his arm aside, apparently forgetting that he was holding the knife he had been using to prepare vegetables. There was general agreement that the wound was the result of accident, not forethought.

  Ranulph turned to Mariam. 'What do you want to do?'

  She responded with her usual calm efficiency. 'My father will have to make the final decision, of course. But we need not trouble him with it at this time of night.' She looked at the two men who had been restraining the cook. 'Take him to the storeroom where we keep the sacks of grain. Give him a blanket and lock him in. It will not do him any harm to contemplate the results of his bad temper for a night.' She detached a key from a bunch at her belt. 'Bring it back to me when you have secured him.'

  As they walked back across the courtyard she said, 'I am glad you were there. I should not have known what to do to stop the bleeding. Did you learn that from the doctor you studied with in Alexandria?'

  He grinned wryly. 'No. That was not the sort of medicine that Ibn Yusuf practised. What I did was battlefield surgery, basic but effective.' He looked sideways at her. There was blood on her hands and on the front of her robe, but her face was serene. 'You did well. Many women would have wept, or screamed.'

  She shrugged. 'What would be the point of that?' After a pause she added, 'Will you teach me some of what you know?'

  'About battlefield surgery?' He laughed. 'I hope you will never need that.'

  'But accidents happen, like tonight. And you know other things, how to use herbs and spices for common ailments. Such knowledge would be useful.'

  'Then I will teach you what I can,' he responded.

  At the foot of the stairs leading up to the terrace he said, 'I'll leave you here. I won't trouble your father. Say goodnight to him for me.

  'Of course.'

  'May I come again tomorrow to find out how matters have been resolved?'

  'Please do. We are always glad to see you.'

  For a moment they were silent, holding each other's eyes, and he was on the point of reaching out to draw her into his arms when she said, 'Goodnight, then,' and turned away.

  From that evening on he made every excuse he could think of to visit the house. In that, he was aided by his friendship with Firouz. Frequently they rode out together to go hawking in the rich pastures and orchards surrounding the city and afterwards he was always invited to dinner. There was also his promise to teach Mariam some of what he knew about the healing arts. In the past two years he had pursued what he had learned from Al Tayyub in Alexandria and developed his understanding of the use of herbs in medicine. He showed her how to dress and clean wounds and how to prepare tinctures and poultices to treat fevers and infections. She was an apt pupil and it gave them a chance to spend time together, although there was always at least one of the maid servants in attendance, so they were never alone.

  He did not altogether neglect his business affairs, meeting the merchants who came out of the desert with their camels loaded with raw silk, or examining bales of woven samite and damask and haggling over prices. Nor did he forget the other friends he had made on previous visits to the city. He had always made a point of seeking out men of learning in all the ports he visited, eager to expand his knowledge and sharpen his wits in discussion with them. But uppermost in his mind at all times wa
s the thought that somehow, before the time came for him to leave, he must come to some kind of understanding with Mariam. He had known her since she was hardly more than a child, and with every visit he had grown more enchanted by her. Now he knew that she had captured his heart in a way no other woman had ever been able to do. There had been others, of course, in the years since he first sailed with Beppo. There was no shortage of bored wives and impressionable serving girls who were eager to attract the attentions of a tall, blond man with eyes like summer skies, who dressed impeccably and could converse with equal fluency in Greek or Latin, or any of the various dialects of Italian, and who could discuss philosophy or tell racy jokes as the occasion required; and who had, moreover, a reputation as a skilled and attentive lover. He had taken what they offered and fulfilled his side of the bargain in good measure, but his heart had never been engaged. With Mariam it was different. He loved her self-contained air and her quiet efficiency, but he had learned that the modest demeanour and the downcast eyes concealed a sharp intelligence and a mischievous sense of humour. When they talked there was an immediate sense of connection, as if their thoughts followed the same paths; and her beauty never ceased to take his breath away. But at the same time, he could never imagine himself using on her the same skills he had learned from Viviana and practised to such good effect on a dozen or so others since.

  As the time drew closer to his inevitable departure he knew he must act. One afternoon, when he was out hunting with Firouz, they stopped to water their horses at one of the many streams that flowed down to join the Orontes. Ranulph decided the moment had come.

  'Firouz, you know – you cannot be unaware – that I care for your sister.'

  Firouz looked up and grinned. 'I wondered when you were going to get round to it.'