by E L Russell
Germans.
They’d had trouble with the bandits. Finna returned to William as fast as she could run. “Change of plans. Leave the wagon for your folks here and tie two horses to my wagon.” She’d been gone less than the afternoon, yet he’d made good use of the time. As she’d directed, he’d filled one wagon with the food for his family and redistributed the rest in the other two vehicles.
“We’re leaving. You’ll drive the second wagon and follow me. My group has returned to the main body of French crusaders, but they could not have covered as much distance walking as we can in these wagons so we can catch up with them within three days. You said your parents are not far from the gap in the ridge. We’ll drop off one of the extra horses and they’ll have to manage to get the wagon with it. You’ll need the second horse to return to them. Got it?”
William’s initial disappointment at remaining behind, vanished at the prospect of the adventure ahead. Finna figured he’d been about as far from his birthplace as she had been from hers before she set off on the crusade. “Let’s give the horses their fill of water and get out of here so your parents can get back here before the Germans awake. Do they have a place to hide the wagon once the y take it?”
“Yes, but won’t the Germans see the trail we leave and follow us?”
“Probably. Another reason to get the hell out of here.”
* * *
Driving the horses as hard as she dared, Finna spent a good part of her time looking over her shoulder. If William’s parents had successfully hidden their booty, then the Germans would be after them on foot. Even so, she feared capture and dared not stop longer than to take care of the horses’ needs. The boy’s fear, on the other hand, dissipated with the new sights and his energy matched her own the first day and a half. By the time they caught up to the French column on the third day, however, they both sagged with exhaustion. They drove their equally weary steeds to the position in the line where her women had stopped for their mid-day repast.
Helena leapt to feet. “You’re safe.” “Thank the saints. When the extra day passed, we scouted the land for you.” A dark cloud descended on her face. “Then the German dogs found us and we ran like hell. We hung out in the forest watching for you, but it was as if you’d vanished. Where were you?”
Finna waived a hand in dismissal. “I was . . . out of it, but what is that slop you eat?”
“This? Lunch. It is the same as yesterday.” She gave a tight laugh that held no humor.
“That thin gruel has all the appeal of prisoner fare,” Finna said.
Cecelia eyed the wagons and interrupted. “What did you find? A smile slowly spread across her face. “Show us.”
Her cadre was glad to see her safe, but when they discovered the food and other goods in the wagons, they held her in sainthood. Their excitement bubbled over and Helena shouted. “Hold.”
The celebration stopped.
Their leader whispered and they all crowded close. “We must not announce our good fortune. There are those in the French column who would take it all from us without remorse. We must hold the life-saving results of our comrade’s mission close to our hearts.” Her eyes clasped Finna’s. “In all likelihood, you have saved us from starvation. With the food you have brought, we will be strong, strong warriors for Christ.”
A cheer went up and again, Helena repeated her command. “Do you not think your cheers will bring others to see what we have? We must present a play of sorts, where each of us is an actor. Your role is to play the part of a crusader putting one foot in front of the other and meeting each day as a soldier, not as one who has just killed the fatted calf.
“We will partake of our food away from the eyes of others and be particularly careful of the aromas emanating from our fires. Only within our tents will we smile with our full bellies and congratulate ourselves for our good fortune to have Finna in our ranks.” She raised both hands as if she were shaking out a blanket and brought it down to stifle the overt excitement. A grin, however, appeared on her serious face and remained. She put her arm over Finna’s shoulder. “Cecilia and I adopt you as our younger sister and will fight with you to the death.”
Danielle looked at William, sending him a shy smile. “So, who is this you have with you?”
William blushed crimson before stuttering out his name.
“Danielle,” Finna hugged her. “You are safe.” The woman was far too pretty and frail to be a warrior, but she had the heart of the greatest destrier. She also drew men, like flowers drew bees. Finna felt responsible for her, shielding her often from unwanted advances. In the process, she had bashed in several heads and won enemies, but the girl became a close friend and Finna cherished their relationship. “William is my friend and without him I would not be here.”
While William and Danielle exchanged timid glances, Finna told her tale. Because they needed the relief of a good tale, she perhaps exaggerated the number of Germans in the house and her close encounter with the biggest one. And perhaps they did not find the wagons of food quite so easily, either. On Brother Thomas and the red powder, however, she remained mum. In truth, she was still working out those particulars herself and wanted to do it alone. When she thought of Father Thomas, the voice rang in her brain. She was uncertain if they were the same or different. Questions weaseled their way into her conscious like pebbles in her shoe.
She bundled food for William and sent him off with a warning to take extra care. As a slight young man riding a horse, he would be magnet for every bandit who set eyes on him.
9
Asia Minor
October 16, 1147, Constantinople
Tempers flared among the women warriors and they grew heartily sick of each other. Five months of dust, sore feet, and never-ending fatigue, had eroded the cheer from even the most devout of souls. By the time they finally reached Constantinople, Finna had often sought peace in the counsel of Cecilia and Helena. She’d drawn close to the two leaders for companionship.
The anticipated ferry ride across the Bosporus was shorter than promised and they soon found their weary feet back on the march. Helena beat her shield with her sword to quiet the grumbling. “We must reach Antalya on the southern coast of Anatolia and from there, hopefully, we sail to Antioch, where we will prepare for the final push to Jerusalem. First, however, we travel south across the western peninsula. It will be slow and dangerous and—”
“Helena is too mild in her warnings,” Cecilia said, her expression pinched with apprehension. “You must be always on the alert. Not mostly, always. The only way we’ll know we’ve been attacked is when an arrow suddenly appears in a comrade. Keep your blades and you eyes sharp.”
The silence grew absolute, as she threw her steely eyes over the assembled women. “In the First Crusade, friendly Byzantine troops fought at the side of the crusaders passing through. We will not have that support. The sarding bastard who calls himself king forgot to make such arrangements. I cannot understand why the queen stays with the ass.” The sneer in Cecelia’s voice captured the complete distain she felt for Louis. “The soldiers who might have fought with us have been paid to fight elsewhere.”
Finna’s stomach lurched and she saw the same dread in Danielle’s face. “You are saying we will be slow, moving targets, for the Turk tribes?”
“Exactly. Many will die.”
* * *
Cecelia was right. Many did die, among them Finna’s friend Danielle. The absence of her soft-spoke presence left a hole in Finna’s heart. She wondered vaguely if it was meant to be. The woman was such a gentle soul, she was not made for the hell they were living.
Lost in sorrow, it was a while before she registered the excitement all around her. A flock of birds squawked overhead and eager chatter broke out through the ranks.
“We made it. We’re here,” she heard up and down the line. She looked in all directions, but could make no sense of the words.
“What’s going on?”
Helena raised her hands t
o the sky and stretched her fingers. “We’ve arrived at the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Can’t you tell? It’s in the air. See the seagulls? It’s even in the color of light in the sky.”
“But I see no water,” Finna said, mystified. “Surely there should be water.” Nevertheless, she, too, reveled in the whiff of tangy salt air and the noisy birds overhead promising full stew pots.
* * *
When the Mediterranean Ocean came into view, Finna’s eyes grew wide. The idea of getting on a floating vessel and crossing it scared her more than facing a thousand infidels. The expanse of water went on forever and Finna went in search of Cecelia to ask if she knew anyone who had survived the crossing.
“Your question no longer has relevance.”
A premonition filled her. “What are you saying?”
“That sarding worthless piece of shit who calls himself a king has done it again. I’ve been told he could only purchase passage on a few small ships. Rumor is going up and down the lines there is only room for our knights and some of the leaders.” She kicked at the dirt. “I’d like to see his fat ass walk the overland route and fight the stinking infidels that attack us at every turn. He wouldn’t last long before one of his own men shot him with an arrow to his back.”
“Cecelia.” Finna was aghast. “Be careful. You will be heard.”
Her friend lowered her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but you can’t keep me from thinking it, the good-for-nothing swine.”
“So now what?” Finna’s heart had dropped to her boots and she slumped to the ground. “Is it more walking, more fighting, more dying?” One night she’d dreamed she’d walked her legs down to knobs. The way things were going, it could be a reality yet. “Have you told the others?”
“Not yet. It’s a lousy message and a rough choice for a Christian crusader. I must tell them to join the march to Antioch and get killed by attacking Turks, or stay here and convert to the Muslim faith.”
* * *
Finna soon learned close to three thousand crusaders elected to stay. If that wasn’t testament to the horror of the marching they had endured, she didn’t know what was. Hunger, thirst, and constant threat of assassination were only the beginning and she didn’t blame the campaigners for their decisions. Although she would deny it if asked, she herself was tempted by the choice.
It did not come to that. Finna and her cadre were told they would be among the few selected by the queen to sail to Antioch. They could hardly believe their good luck and the women rejoiced.
No more marching.
Within the flotilla, there were ships for cargo of all sorts as well as ones that carried the women’s guard and several male soldiers. Only the king, queen, noblemen and knights traveled with their horses. Their ships were larger, of better design, and more comfortable. Finna was fairly certain the horses left behind were eaten by the diminished troops marching to Antioch. For the first time, she was glad she’d not brought Trueblood.
Waiting her turn to stow her gear, she heard Cecilia and Helena arguing with Arno and his newfound lieutenant, Dagg, but when she edged closer, the quarreling had stopped. The men slapped each other on the back in some sort of congratulations and took their gear to the crew tent on deck.
Cecilia noticed Finna and beckoned her closer. “The queen assigned two male guards to both of the women’s ships. They’re supposed to be protection from the ship’s crew.” She spat. “You see who we got. Those two clod-brained half-wits Arno and Dagg will be responsible for the male crew of four and they get to sleep under a tent on deck. That means Helena and I, who are responsible for the women, will have to bunk below with you and the others.”
“Is that bad?”
“Cecilia opened her mouth and then closed it.” “Oomph,” she finally said. “You will see.”
Finna frowned. The answer seemed filled with innuendos she did not understand. “I guess we’ll manage.” One thing was clear. Neither of them wanted the two men on their ship. They had the morals of the German dogs and wouldn’t be much protection from anything.
Just before the small fleet took sail, Arno spoke to everyone on the crowded deck. His scruffy beard and soiled shirt stretching over his fat belly spoke volumes of his personal hygiene and food-sharing practices. Finna wondered how many starved while he ate his fill. The swine.
“Dagg and I are in charge. After we set sail, you women will stay below deck and out of the way. If you have a problem with anything, talk to these two.” He jerked his thumb at Cecelia and Helena, having not bothered to learn their names. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
Sarding bastard, Finna mouthed to Cecelia.
* * *
Once their small ship entered the Mediterranean, the smooth sailing on the harbor changed to a pitching rolling motion. With each rise and fall of the small craft, bile rose in Finna’s throat They were so crammed into the hold that it was hard to know where one body stopped and the next began, but in her misery, she barely noticed. With her arms wrapped around a malodorous bucket, she vomited her guts out. When she had nothing left in her stomach, she continued to dry heave.
Mal de mer.
She’d heard of it. She collapsed in a boneless heap against the bulkhead, too miserable to notice the macabre melody of retching and moaning all around her. Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t muster enough spit to swallow, which was just as well. Any sip of their stale water rebelled and she retched again. When marching was at its worst, she never wished to die. Now she prayed for it. She took shallow breaths and waited for death to steal her away.
She clutched her bucket. “No. Not good.”
Her stomach clenched. “Oh god.”
10
Angels and Hell
Danger
On the third night, an angel of mercy came to Finna and put a cool cloth to her burning forehead. It dribbled water on her parched and cracked lips. She passed in and out of consciousness or sleep. She didn’t care which. She just welcomed the escape when it came.
“Just a small . . .”
“ . . . another . . .”
“ . . . deck privileges.”
Finna heard only patches of sentences and had no curiosity for more.
“ . . . stand?”
An arm went around her shoulders.
“No,” she said, or at least she meant to.
“ . . . topside.
A cool hand rested lightly on Finna’s forehead. “Do you hear me? Do you understand?”
Finna opened her eyes. In the dark hold, she heard rather than saw Cecelia.
“I want to take you on deck. You will feel better.” She turned her head. “Get out.”
One of the crew had crept down the crude steps.
When the crewman left, Cecelia helped Finna up the short steps to the deck. The wind on her face was like heaven and she breathed in great gulps of air.
“Good.” It was all she could manage and Cecelia led her to the back of the boat behind some barrels.
“Keep your eyes on the horizon. That’s it, eyes open. Take a small sip of water.”
“Can’t.”
“Yes. You can. You must.”
Finna clamped her lips tight. She knew what happened when she swallowed anything.
“Don’t fight me. You have that sunken-eyed-look of one seriously in need of fluids. Do you want to die before you even see the Holy Land?”
“Don’t . . . care.” And she didn’t.
“You look like hell and you will be of no use to the queen in this condition. Three of our numbers have already died on this stinking barge and the queen doesn’t want you to be next. Before we sailed, she asked me to watch over you. Until last night, I thought you would be all right, but then I wasn’t so sure. Better now?”
Finna assessed how she felt before she answered. The water the damn woman had forced between her lips rumbled in her stomach, but so far, it remained there. “Not sur
e.” The horizon thing seemed to work and she glued her eyes to it. “Not ready to fight pirates.” She found, however, that she might want to live.
Cecelia would be Finna’s hero forever and she continually scanned for trouble. “My post is over there by the stairs to the women’s hold. Helena’s guard is between the area under the tent where the men sleep and the back hatch that goes below. When Arno claimed it was our duty to prevent any women from trying to sneak up to get into the men’s tent, he got it backwards. We’re stopping any men from getting below. You saw how fast it happened when I left my post to see to you.” She spat. “Like any of us would ever touch one of those black hearted pirates by choice.”
She seemed to shake herself. “You really do look terrible. You are not keeping down enough water.” She pointed with her chin toward the bow of the boat. “Just over there is a spot between the coils of rope and the side of the ship where you can hide. I’ve put a water bag there. Make sure you drink some at regular intervals. It is important to your recovery. And for God’s sake, don’t get caught.”
* * *
Muffled noises from the other end of the small ship woke Finna before sunrise. They came from the open tent toward the stern. Removing her short sword and adjusting her knife for easy access, she silently stole through the shadows toward the camping area of the crew. Muffled grunts of distress stopped her and her heart skipped a beat.