"It's just the soldiers and knights," she called to those around her. "I see Count Albert's banners there." At this point she could not see the pilgrim camp around a pool formed by a spring behind the stone hill. The whole of the pilgrim camp had moved to the ever-refilling spring-fed pool when the wells in the town had gone dry the evening before.
Conrad's company trotted west about five miles along a nearly-level but winding road above the plains and along the base of the mountains. About a mile from the European lines they veered south down a wide but shallow ridge that flared from the side of the mountains to come behind the sweep of the Danishmend archers. Conrad's progress brought them to a point that allowed some elevated observation of the battle, taking place before them. What they saw spread before them all around the half-mile-round stony hill were tight formations of the different armies. As she had seen, those who faced in their direction were the fighters of the Count of Bandage. The sun was halfway between dawn and midday. The heat was increasing, but none of the fighters felt it. They were too completely caught by the death struggle before them.
Elisabeth found that when the waves of mounted Turkish archers cleared she could see the banners of her own people above their heads. To the north at the base of the mountains a half mile from the stone hill she saw Stephen of Burgundy's banner and assumed it obscured Odo's. To the south was Toulouse's, with at least one of the Byzantine leaders' not far from it. She thought she could make out Blois's on the far side of the press of crusaders and just by them the outlandish armor of Pecheneg, but the latest wave of attack from the Turks prevented her from confirming what she saw.
The ranks of knights and infantry of the pilgrims seemed immobile. They stood or sat on their mounts, shields raised, letting the thousands of archers swoop, shoot, and ride away. It was clear that they had come out of the village expecting to engage the Turks in battle, but there was no foe to engage. It was more like trying to swat deadly insects. So they stood circling the hill and its ridges surrounding its little spring-fed pond where the holy men and women cared for the ever-growing number of wounded as the Turks rode up to them and shot only to ride down and away again and again.
Conrad seemed to be waiting for something. Heads turned to watch him, the men expecting to be thrown into the melee. Elisabeth wondered if he had a reason to hold back, and if it was an honorable one.
She saw him speak to several of his commanders, then face the battle again and start to raise his arm to order the charge. Several men, some on horseback and several on foot, anticipated the gesture and went forward on impulse. She saw that one of those on foot had the helm of the Danes and realized it was Ragnar. She imagined she could hear his battle cry and the core of murderous anger in it.
Already turning and riding toward them, one company of Turkish archers on horseback screamed. Arrows caught many of the men from Conrad's force as they hurried to meet them. Some of the men and the knights made their way to the mounted archers and started to slash and spear their way through them. It was hard to see from this distance but Elisabeth fancied she saw the Dane's helm pierce and become enveloped in the ranks of the horsemen. It was then that Conrad shouted them forward. "Deus lo volt!" he screamed. Elisabeth was startled. She had almost forgotten the crusader's war cry.
The scene Elisabeth and her companions raced toward was for the first time actual battle. The mounted archers were not allowed to sweep by and then away. The group that had rushed forward engaged them, knights on horseback and others, like Ragnar, on foot. While mounted archers continued to swoop in and let loose arrows in the distance, these archers found themselves facing spears, axes and swords with nowhere to run.
Many dropped their bows and drew swords with curved blades. The casualties on both sides started to accumulate under the horses' hooves almost instantly. Elisabeth saw horses lacking riders, both the small fleet Turkish animals and the big heavy destriers, suddenly come out of the raging battle and run away. The rest roiled about, making it impossible to see how the melee was going.
Before her attention snapped to the battle she was about to enter, she sensed the sudden change of the scene nearer the hill. The Lombard knights, including Albert and Montebello, were breaking and running. The rain of arrows by their thousands had become too much. Seeing the Lombards desert, the Pecheneg looked to General Tzitas. He made some sort of signal and the entire Pecheneg force followed the Lombard knights who had turned into the mountains after skirting Raymond's position.
The combined mass of deserting knights broke easily through the bands of swooping archers and headed northwest along the lower ridges of the mountains, away from Conrad's little force. A few Turks started to chase after them but were called back to finish the battle before the hill.
Saint Gilles, the Hero of Antioch, who had been positioned on the peak of the stony hill between the Lombards and the Pecheneg, suddenly found himself and his own household knights alone with no defense to their flanks.
One of the Turkish commanders saw the knights looking about in panic and whooped. He led his men directly uphill toward them.
One of Raymond's knights shouted, "Over here!" Without stopping to see where he directed, Raymond and his knights wheeled and rode to a small spur, really just a rocky outcrop on which they could form a smaller circle. They reached it and spurred their destriers onto it just in time to avoid being overrun by the Turks. They instead started to circle the outcrop to shoot up at the knights on their stony platform. Raymond and his men huddled behind shields on their perch, praying one of the other commanders had seen what had happened and would come to rescue them.
Stephen of Burgundy, though beleaguered on his side, had seen the whole fiasco. He shouted to Stephen of Blois, and the two brought their knights and many infantry from the northwestern flank of the original circle around the pond to rescue Raymond and his men. The Turkish horsemen, unprepared to face enemy on two sides, veered away and rode off onto the plain southward. Raymond and his knights were able to ride off the outcrop and rejoin the European forces.
They were now the whole of the Christian force, or so they thought until one of Raymond's knights shouted and waved his arms. Toulouse looked over to where he could see some melee breaking up to the east. Danishmend archers were riding away, but it appeared that their numbers were severely reduced. Raymond cheered, "Good old Conrad! And he wanted us to come rescue him!" He let out a whoop of triumph.
Conrad's muttered "Those bastards!" was inaudible in the fray. He watched first the Lombard knights and then the entire band of Pecheneg turn and ride away. He scowled, wondering if Count Raymond was with them, but had to pull his attention away to meet a slashing blow from a Danishmend sword.
The riders guided Elisabeth and Gauner into the melee on either side of her. As they charged forward her lance buried itself in a surprised-looking archer who was lifted from his saddle and then lost from sight as Gauner kicked, crippled, and ran over his horse, leaping over it to land on the fallen rider and splatter him into the dust. A spear point came at her out of the swirling dust and she knocked it aside with her shield as she dropped the reins over the pommel and let Gauner's training carry him forward. The lance was ripped from her hands by the falling Turkish horse. She drew her sword and swung it up into the face of the Turk on her right, knocking him off his horse. She swung it back over Gauner's outstretched neck to slice halfway through the spearman's head as they passed.
The line of knights continued their charge through the horde of light Turkish horse archers like a hot knife through butter, closely followed by the second line of knights who filled the gaps in front of them as those in the first row fell or separated. The German horses all fought like Gauner as they had been taught to crush through opposing horses and men. A thousand Turkish archers were in the mob trapped between the crusaders on the hill and Conrad's charging well -ordered knights. Footmen who ran behind to finish off the fallen enemy and rescue fallen comrades followed these knights.
Elisabeth and Gaun
er flowed into the melee like a leaf in a millrace into a pond. She found herself reeling in different directions as Gauner did his job and attacked the smaller horses of the archers. His massive hooves and his awesome strength were enough to knock the smaller horses clean over, sending their less well-armored riders off and onto the ground where he stomped them to death. Some of the horses now without riders were too sorely injured to rise, but others struggled to their feet, stumbling as others bumped into them, and finally made for the relative peace of the perimeter.
Elisabeth, her ears ringing, continued to plow through the swirling horsemen. From her left a screaming man on horseback rushed at her circling his sword over his head to give it momentum. At the last moment his slashed it down toward her neck. She raised her shield in time to take the blow on its metal-reinforced rim but at a bad angle that wrenched her shoulder back. She held tight. The twisting of her body whipped her sword arm around, and she smacked the horseman with the flat of her sword as he and his mount slid past her. Someone else caught the attention of the man who had attacked her, and unable to stop and rub his own painful sword arm, he was off on defense before she could make another move against him.
There was one more horseman between her and the friendly forces on the hill. The momentum of her charge was gone with the trampling of a half dozen enemy and skewering of several spearmen. She kicked Gauner forward to the left of the final foe and swung her sword up between the horses toward his chin. He met her sword with his own, easily knocking it aside. They circled hammering each other's swords oblivious of the battle swirling around them. Elisabeth feared for her life, as the archer had developed shoulders and arms from using the small curved bow of the Turks. The man slashed downward just missing Elisabeth's nose and buried his blade in the pommel of her saddle. As he yanked to get it free, she gritted and bared her teeth, her hair and face streaming with sweat and blood. She delivered a thrust to his armpit that produced a blood curdling shriek from the man that she could hear even over the clamor of battle.
Elisabeth looked about for the next challenge and turned back to the fight instead of riding toward the safety of the friendly lines on the hill. She could feel she was trembling all over, as much from the effort as from fear. She wished she had a hand free to grab her water skin and wet her dry mouth, but a man on foot was coming at her with a spear. She leaned to one side of his thrust and grabbed its shaft just behind the point and jerked the weapon out of the man's hands. She enjoyed his startled look just before she whacked him on the side of the head with the haft. He staggered back while she reversed the spear and thrust it into his chest. She left the spear protruding from him where he fell amid the horses' hooves.
Suddenly the press of the melee eased. Many of the Danishmend archers had wheeled and were riding away. She found herself watching the mercenary Ragnar rush after one turning archer. He caught the man from behind but struck only armor on his back with his sword. The man turned in his saddle, a scream of rage on his lips, and he turned his mount so he could meet Ragnar's next blow. It was then that Elisabeth realized she had recognized the Dane because he had lost his helm. With horror she saw the archer bring down his blade, deflect it from Ragnar's own, then sweep around to be embedded in the Dane's neck, cutting deep. Elisabeth knew she must be mistaken, for she had thought she saw a look of sheer joy on the Dane's lips just as the sword took him.
She had no time to look about for Ranulf to see if he had seen Ragnar's death, for now she was set upon by two men who drove their mounts on either side of Gauner. Again, Elisabeth knew she must be losing her mind, because she could have sworn she heard Gauner chuckle. He kicked out first with the legs on one side and then the other. The first horse screamed as his leg broke. The archer riding it flew off and away. The second horse was struck in the head, fell forward, pitching the rider with the velocity of a slung stone.
Elisabeth had heard of the battle joy and wondered if it was a peculiarly male thing, but now she learned that the savagery knew no barriers. After initial panic, which she mastered, came the rote response of her training and finally as the chaos built the joy came. She screamed herself hoarse, dealt and received blows, not tiring, not feeling pain, melding with Gauner as a single entity, a killing entity. The madness must have truncated time for her, for all at once she realized the light was failing and the Turks were riding away. She heard her own breath, raspy and gasping. Her arm ached from wielding her sword, nevertheless it twitched to find another Turk to slice into.
The Turkish archers were melting away fast. Finally, with combat more suited to the European knights' training, their superior armor, weapons, and in this context, mounts, could prevail. Elisabeth found herself and Gauner standing amid corpses of men and horses, stunned and unable to comprehend the horror. A stray thread about wishing Albrecht had fought beside her wound through her sluggish mind.
The rest of the pilgrims had not seen hand-to-hand combat, but only faced more of the relentless onslaught of arrows.
Somehow Conrad and his men made their way to where the remaining three commanders faced the onslaught of arrows. Elisabeth had no memory of how they had gotten through the rush of Danishmend and Turks, but could only register that she sat on her horse several feet away as Raymond greeted Conrad with evident joy.
Elisabeth became aware first of the sound of cheering. She sat astride her battle horse fairly quivering with adrenaline, wondering what the sound was and who was making it. Her vision seemed to have acquired a bluish filter, and her focus narrowed. She did not hear or see when the mercenary captain Ranulf came alongside her and spoke her name, Elias, over and over.
"Elias!" he said again, reaching to tug her arm but also ready to draw back if her sword came around at him. She slowly turned and looked at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and she was covered with blood, hers and Turks', and maybe even some of her own men's.
"Ranulf?" she said weakly. Her voice to herself sounded like it came from a mile away.
"Come with me. Let's get you looked at."
"No!" she said automatically. "Don't look!"
He dismounted and came to Gauner's head. Taking both sets of reins from her hands, he said in a calm voice, "It is all right, Elias. Let's just go over here and see if there is any water."
"Water." She let him take the reins and lead her and his own horse to the spring at the base of the hill. He reached up to help her dismount. She flinched automatically. "I can do it."
She dismounted. He led the horses to the water while she went to a garden wall of natural stones and, putting her back to it, slid down until her arse was on the ground. She took off her helm. To her utter dismay she burst out weeping. It came in great gulping sobs. She was close to hysteria.
Ranulf let her cry for a few minutes, then, kneeling before her, he took her shoulders and shook her violently.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she shot at him, coming at last to herself.
"Just bringing you back to the miserable present." He let himself fall beside her to sit almost shoulder to shoulder.
"Oh my God, I was weeping like a woman," Elisabeth howled after a brief pause.
Ranulf said sharply, "Shut up, Elias. It's what happens. This is your first all-out battle. Everyone weeps after their first. The noise, the fear, the smells, the chaos . . . then the fever. You can't stop it."
She stared at him uncomprehending, then looked back out onto the body-littered plain and asked, "The fever? I had the fever."
Ranulf put his face in his hands. "That you did. I had my own hands full, but when I happened to look over where you were, you were slashing all around you, taking down Turks."
She looked hard at him. "I was? I did?" She wondered why she felt so hollow.
"The look on your face! Like some sort of demon. If I ever thought you looked girlish, I don't now."
She could not register the meaning.
A young boy from the encampment brought water around in a bucket. He had a big spoon, like
a ladle, and gave each man one drink, then went on to the next man. He could not let them have any more. Besides being in short supply, the water would do no man any good to overindulge. Most were in some stage of shock.
The small drink certainly did Elisabeth good. She was able now to form coherent thoughts and turned to Ranulf, who still sat with his face in his hands. "Who won?"
He looked at her, incredulous. "Won?" he asked. "Nobody won. We just held out longer than they did. For now."
"What happened?" she pursued.
"They just up and rode away. Like all the other times." His face was so haggard he almost did not look like himself. "Ragnar is dead."
"I know. I saw him die. He had a smile on his lips."
Ranulf made a derisive snort. "He would, God love him." He reached into his leather brigandine and drew out Ruggiero's ring. "I guess I will have to take this now."
"Any news of Thomas . . . and Albrecht?"
"Yes and no," he said. "I don't know about Albrecht. I saw Thomas among the crossbowmen in the hill, but never spoke to him. Never even got a chance to wish him Godspeed."
Her eyes rested rather vacantly on the captain. "Never . . . spoke to him. Never."
"Yes, Thomas is dead now too. It's just me now."
"Oh Ranulf," she moaned.
"They came here to support me, to help me expiate my guilt. Now they are dead, but I am still alive. Tell me," he said, looking into her face in anguish, "What sense does that make?"
She had no answer. She looked away, put her head back against the wall, and closed her eyes.
The world became nothing more than the constant heat, body aches, thirst and noise. The sounds were no longer of clashing metal and battle cries. Now all she could hear was weeping, moans, cries and prayers of the wounded and dying.
Elisabeth drifted out of consciousness and into a dream. She was walking with Elias and Albrecht through a meadow filled with tiny white and yellow flowers. She ran toward the top of the hill and spun to call to the boys. They were not there. She was alone. A snort drew her attention to where Gauner stood, lathered with the yellow white foam of sweat, breathing heavily and splashed with blood. "Oh Gauner," she sighed. Somewhere cattle were lowing and a bird sang.
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