Outcasts

by Martin Lake

  'Yes,' said Simon. 'But my parents are both of Norman stock which is why I am dark like your husband. The Normans think that John looks like a peasant, with his broad shoulders and hair like straw. He takes after his mother, you see, a Saxon woman.'

  'I don't think you look like a peasant,' Agnes said to John. 'You look strong and thoughtful. And being English is a good thing, surely, no matter whether your mother is Norman or Saxon?'

  John reddened and looked away.

  There was an uncomfortable silence before Simon spoke again. 'Claude-Yusuf says he lives with you.'

  Agnes nodded. ‘Claude-Yusuf’s mother went to Ascalon in the spring and fell ill. She has not returned. Now that his father has gone to war he stays with us.’

  John and Simon had the best night’s sleep since leaving home. They awoke ravenously hungry and wolfed down a breakfast of bread and hot pork.

  ‘How long shall we stay here?’ Simon asked.

  John shrugged. Their funds were ample but not unlimited.

  ‘We should find out how much the Hostel costs,’ Simon said.

  John nodded but then looked up and caught a glimpse of Agnes picking some herbs in the courtyard.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘But I think we should balance cost with comfort. I don’t want to spend every night with scores of filthy pilgrims if this place is only a little more expensive. The facilities here are excellent.’

  Simon’s eyes slid towards Agnes. He smiled to himself but decided not to comment.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE HOLY CITY

  Jerusalem

  Gerard and Claude-Yusuf raced into the room and headed straight for the cousins.

  ‘Shall we take you around Jerusalem?’ Claude-Yusuf asked. ‘We are most excellent guides.’

  ‘Claude-Yusuf knows everywhere and everything,’ Gerard said with pride.

  ‘That sounds a splendid idea,’ Simon said.

  At that moment Agnes walked in from the courtyard.

  ‘But only if your parents agree,’ John said hurriedly so that she could hear.

  ‘Agree to what?’ Agnes asked.

  The two boys ran to her, each grabbing a hand and looking up at her with pleading eyes.

  ‘The English have asked us to take them round the city,’ Gerard said. ‘We will be their guides.’

  ‘They have asked you?’ she said, feigning surprise. Her eyes went to the young men.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ said John. He felt his face redden.

  Agnes glanced away. ‘If you promise not to be a nuisance to the gentlemen,’ she said.

  The two boys wriggled with excitement. ‘We will, we will.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  She smiled at the men. ‘Are you certain about this?’

  ‘We don’t know the city,’ Simon answered. ‘We need experienced guides.’

  ‘I must see the church first,’ said John. ‘That is essential.’

  Ten minutes later Gerard and Claude-Yusuf dragged the cousins out of the inn and led them through a narrow alley way. They were soon in the middle of a warren of streets and alleys. They moved fast, darting up and down, turning corner after corner until the two adults lost any sense of direction.

  After a few minutes they walked through an arch into an open space.

  In the centre of the space was a vast church.

  The Ferriers gasped. They had never in their lives seen such a building. It dwarfed anything they had seen or could have imagined.

  'I've never seen a tree as tall as this,' Simon said.

  'I think it's even bigger than Nottingham castle,' said John.

  Simon's gaze went from one end of the church to the other.

  'I tell you what; I think the whole of the Goose Fair could be lost inside it and the city church as well.'

  John nodded, awestruck.

  The Church of the Sepulchre was made of glistening stone. Its roof was covered with silver and two large domes with golden crosses appeared to float above the roof.

  As John gazed upon it he felt as if he were being dislodged from his firm footing upon the ground, almost as if he dangled half-way between earth and sky.

  He brought his eyes back to the ground, seeking for some sense of normality.

  They were standing on the edge of the cobbled area in front of the church. It was thronged with people and the tumult of their noise was overwhelming.

  Some looked similar to the people they had seen when they entered the city. Most looked like pilgrims from the west, travel-worn, filthy, staring at the glory of the church.

  ‘Well,’ said John, swallowing hard. ‘You’ve brought us here. Shall we go inside?’

  He took Gerard and Claude-Yusuf’s hands and stepped through the porch into the church.

  John was staggered by what he saw. Every wall was hung with tapestries. Gold figurines crammed every surface and the ceiling appeared studded with precious stones. The clear light of day flooded the interior; it was as if he had stepped into the Heaven of his imagination.

  His eyes followed the long nave and rested on a huge alter-piece. His heart lurched at the sight of it. He wiped his eyes, took a breath and started down the nave towards it.

  The alter showed scenes from the life of Christ: his birth, childhood, ministry and sacrifice, carved from fine-grained dark wood. John stared at the many faces of Christ in the screen. He was overcome, believing this to be the very image of his saviour.

  Beside the alter piece was a large plinth made of fine marble. It was covered in flowers and small dishes of smouldering incense. In the centre of it was a rectangular slit which had, by some miracle of craft, been incised deep into the marble.

  ‘What's this?’ Simon asked.

  ‘It’s where the True Cross usually rests,’ Claude-Yusuf said. ‘But King Guy took it with him in order to beat the Saracens.’

  Simon smiled. John recalled Bernard’s words about this and wondered at them.

  ‘Let's go this way,’ Claude-Yusuf said, tugging at John’s hand. ‘This is where dead people were buried.’

  ‘Is the tomb there?’ John asked. 'Where Our Lord's body rested before he rose again?'

  Claude-Yusuf shrugged.

  ‘There are bones there,’ Gerard said. ‘Lots of them.’

  ‘Show me where Our Saviour was crucified first,’ John said.

  The boys looked blank. They had no idea that such a place existed in the city.

  An old pilgrim had been listening to their talk from where he rested on a bench. He reached out for John's hand.

  ‘The place you seek can be found in a chapel above us,’ he said. ‘Climb the stairs by the entrance to the church and you will arrive there.’

  John thanked the pilgrim and turned to Simon.

  ‘I pray you cousin, will you take the children away for a while? I need to see Calvary on my own and quietly.’

  ‘Of course,’ Simon answered. 'I understand.'

  Simon bent down to the boys. ‘I’d love to see where people were buried,' He said. 'And their bones.’ He had hardly straightened before he was whisked away.

  John returned to the entrance and climbed up the stairs which led to the place of the crucifixion. With each step his heart felt more deadened, his burden of guilt more heavy.

  At the top of the stairs he paused, his hand upon the door.

  Dare I go in? Am I so reviled, so lost that I cannot sully this holy place?

  He closed his eyes and tried to calm his heart. He took a deep breath and stepped into the chapel.

  To his left was a small rock on which it was said the three crosses had been raised a thousand years before. He fell to his knees in front of it.

  He cast his mind back to his act of sin and sacrilege. He felt once again his anger, still hot as the blood which swept his veins. He felt once again the sense of shame.

  He needed more. He tried to force his thoughts to the sorrow, the contrition he knew he should feel at the horror of his deed. But instead they turned
again to those screams of shame and rage.

  He knelt in silence for a long time, his hands pressed to his forehead. It was useless. Salvation would stay forever beyond his reach.

  Could this be, he wondered? Was Jerusalem too holy a place for one so unworthy? Was he damned, never able to attain the bliss it promised?

  He struggled to his feet and leant his hand against the wall, propped up like a dead thing awaiting disposal.

  A familiar blackness settled once more upon him. He made a perfunctory obeisance towards the place of sacrifice and left.

  He found Simon and the boys at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Simon asked.

  John smiled wanly. ‘Yes. But what I desire may not prove as easy as I imagined.’

  He did not tell Simon his real thoughts. Simon had trod long and weary miles with him on the journey to the Holy Land and it was not fair to even hint that they may have been in vain.

  Simon nodded but made no comment.

  ‘Well I saw the tombs but one of the priests took a dislike to the boys. I thought it best to leave.’

  As he said it he glanced at Claude-Yusuf for it was he who had aroused the anger of the priest. The boy must have realised it but seemed unconcerned.

  ‘Shall we take you round the rest of the city now?’ Gerard asked.

  Simon nodded. ‘That would be good.’

  The boys led them back through the maze of alley ways, past the inn and then cut right along the David Street towards the Jaffa Gate by which they had entered the city.

  Close by the gate the city walls continued in an easterly direction to enclose a vast citadel. Two huge towers loomed high above the citadel walls, impregnable bastions designed to throw back the fiercest assault. The cousins crept past the fortifications, feeling like mice trying to scurry past a watchful cat. They felt ashamed, for the two boys were unabashed.

  ‘This is where King Guy lives,’ cried Gerard with pride. ‘He waved to me once and kissed me on the head.’

  I don’t believe you,’ Claude-Yusuf said.

  ‘He did. You can ask my father.’

  ‘Why would he kiss you so?’

  ‘Because he knows that I am to be a Templar knight when I grow up.’

  ‘How could he know that?’

  Gerard went to answer then realised he did not know and was forced to shrug instead and try to look superior.

  John and Simon looked everywhere as they walked. With every step they appeared to be going deeper into a more foreign world. There were no Europeans here apart from themselves. They could not help but stare at the exotic appearance of the people with their dark faces and strange, bright clothes.

  The locals, on the other hand, gave the Englishmen only the most cursory of glances. They were well used to the sight of pilgrims.

  ‘Are these Saracens?’ John asked.

  Claude-Yusuf shook his head. ‘No Muslims are allowed to live within the city walls. These people are Armenians.’

  They strolled through streets and markets, past churches and shrines, through alley ways and little courts, startled by the bright and vivid colours. Their nostrils were filled with the scent of strange food: pungent spices, musky stews and fish both fresh and rotting. The noise was overwhelming for everyone talked at the top of their lungs.

  After a few minutes the boys turned left and they entered a quarter of the city which was even more strange to their sight. The people were smaller than the Armenians and even darker of face. They wore clothes of bright and vibrant colours and every man was bearded. Small groups of men clung around tiny squares, locked in fierce discussion, their arms waving until someone said something amusing which made them roar with laughter. But as soon as they saw John and Simon they grew quiet and watched in silence until they passed.

  ‘Are these Jews?’ Simon asked.

  Claude-Yusuf nodded.

  ‘They make lots of pretty things,’ he said. ‘Mother and Aunt Agnes come here to buy their clothes.’

  They came out onto a larger road. To their left was an open space crammed with people talking in close huddles. On either side of the street were tiny shops, most of them little more than booths. The cousins peered in as they passed. They did not appear to sell anything at all.

  ‘Gerard,’ called a figure sitting on a stool beside one of the booths. ‘Claude-Yusuf.’

  ‘Alexius,’ they cried and ran over to him.

  He was an old man, probably in his late fifties. He reached out for Gerard’s ear and plucked a little coin from it. He then did the same to Claude-Yusuf. The boys were mesmerised and watched as he made a great show of biting on the coins.

  ‘They are gold, most certainly,’ he said, passing them to the boys who stood rapt, examining them. ‘You boys have a gold-mine each in your heads. Don’t let the Patriarch know or he will be after you.’

  The man looked up at John and Simon and scrutinised them as if he were seeking to remember who they were. Finally, he seemed to have satisfied himself and grinned widely, showing a mouth filled not with teeth but with gold.

  ‘Tell me boys,’ he said, without taking his eyes from the adults. 'Who are your new friends?'

  ‘They are English,’ said Gerard, ‘from France. They are staying at the inn and are my good friends.’

  ‘Am I not your good friend?’ the old man asked softly.

  Gerard looked crestfallen for a moment.

  ‘Of course you're our friend, Alexius, of course you are.’

  He fell silent, biting his lip. ‘But can’t a person have more than one good friend?’

  ‘He can indeed,’ Alexius said. ‘But he may, by definition, have only one best friend.’

  ‘Claude-Yusuf is my best friend.’

  ‘A good choice, if I may be allowed a judgement.’

  He turned his attention to the Englishmen once more.

  ‘You are pilgrims by the look of it.’ He picked up a bag and shook it. ‘And I am by calling a money-changer.’

  He grinned and gestured them to sit on two stools next to his own.

  ‘My name is Alexius Kamateros of Constantinople. I can change any coin from east, west, south or north. As friends of these boys, I give you the best rate in Jerusalem.’

  ‘We have English pennies,’ John said.

  The old man nodded. ‘That is good. The English know how to make a coin.’ He spread his hands. ‘I have to say that the older the better. Since the Normans conquered the country the coins are not quite so fine.’

  ‘But still good?’

  ‘Oh yes, still good. Better than Frankish coins or German or Saracen.’ He leaned close towards them. ‘But not as good as those from the Empire of course.’

  ‘Alexius’ ancestor was an Emperor,’ Claude-Yusuf said.

  ‘Vespasian,’ Alexius said. ‘A long time ago. My people moved from Rome to Constantinople six hundred years ago.’

  John and Simon exchanged glances, not knowing what to make of the old man.

  ‘You doubt that I am honest?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Simon. ‘I’m sure you are.’

  ‘More honest than the relic sellers, at any rate.’

  He leaned close once again.

  ‘In the Street of the Palmers you will find only one honest shop,' he continued. 'The rest will sell you a part of a sheep’s fleece and tell you it comes from John the Baptist’s wild and woolly head. They will sell you a dried up old thorn and say it came from Christ’s crown. They will sell you a rusty nail, or even maybe all three and claim you know what. Why I have even seen one sell a rock and claim that it was used to stone Saint Stephen.'

  Simon laughed. ‘We shall watch out for them. I have heard that an Abbot in France has a golden casket where he keeps the fore-skin of Christ.’

  Alexius threw his hand in the air. ‘I can purchase half a dozen of the same, in the one street.’

  ‘You say there is one honest shop?’ said Simon.

  Alexius rose from his stool and bowed. ‘The shop
belongs to he with whom you now speak.’

  ‘Of course. I should have guessed.’

  Alexius sat down once again. He sniffed, deciding what his next move should be. ‘In the meanwhile, you want to change some money?’

  ‘I would like something smaller than a penny,’ John said.

  Alexius produced a small scale as if from nowhere and placed three of John’s pennies in one pan and adjusted a small lever on the scales. He opened a bag and poured tiny copper coins into the other pan until the scales balanced.

  ‘This is the current rate,’ he said. Then he poured more copper coins into the pan, causing it to sink to the table. ‘And this is the rate for friends of friends.’

  The noon bell rang and the old man plucked up his bags and scales and pulled down a shutter on his booth.

  He turned to the cousins. ‘Do you plan to stay long in Jerusalem?’ he asked.

  ‘We think so.

  The old man stared at them for a long time. ‘Forgive me for saying, but I think you should not stay here too long.’

  CHAPTER 3

  SAINTS AND DEMONS

  Jerusalem

  Bernard heaved a barrel of ale onto the counter.

  ‘Good news,’ he said. ‘The young Englishmen have decided to stay for a month.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Agnes answered. ‘With the soldiers gone the city feels empty and our coffers are beginning to look the same.’

  ‘Do you like the English?’ he asked. ‘You might be related.’

  ‘My great grandfather was English,’ Agnes said. ‘That was a long time ago. In any case, these two are of Norman blood. And my great grandfather was said to be the son of the Normans' deadliest enemy.'

  ‘But do you like them?’

  She paused before picking up a cloth and polishing a tankard. ‘I like them as much as any other guest. Why do you ask?’

  ‘They’ve only been here, what, three days and the boys seem to have got attached to them already.’

  Agnes looked troubled. ‘Do you think it is a cause for concern?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think Gerard believes they will stay here forever.’

  ‘Gerard’s always excitable.’

  Agnes came over to her husband and brushed her fingers through his hair. ‘And what about you? Do you like them?’