Beloved Pilgrim

by Nan Hawthorne

  Chapter Sixteen ~ Dishonor

  As the sun was setting and the sudden chill invaded clothing soaked with sweat, Elisabeth toured the camp. She was numb from the horrors and exhilarations of the day her sorrow over Albrecht's likely death was undifferentiated. It was just part of the dull ache in her chest. She cast her eyes about as she passed clumps of men. She heard her name, or rather her brother's, and turned to find Black Beast dragging himself up off his haunches to approach her.

  "Elias, my God, you are still alive!" the big man cried. He slapped his hands down hard on Elisabeth's shoulders. He had a manic grin on his face. "I can't believe it! Have you seen Gerhardt?"

  She stared at him. "No, I haven't. The only one I could find was the mercenary captain. Ranulf. The Dane is dead. So is Thomas the crossbowman. You?"

  Black Beast's grin disappeared. "I hoped you had seen Gerhardt. Alain and I have been looking all over for him." He paused, "My squire is over there, but Alain's is gone and we haven't seen Gerhardt's. At least yours is alive, after a fashion."

  Elisabeth grasped his arm with a sudden death grip. "Albrecht? Is alive?"

  "Your squire is in Conrad's encampment. He made it back here but is pretty badly wounded." He watched as the young knight hurried away.

  Elisabeth tore through the tangle of men and animals to where she knew the Constable would be. There was a tent set up quite near the command tent of the Holy Roman Emperor's faction. She slipped in through the open flap and stood waiting for her eyes to adjust. She called, "Albrecht?" softly.

  "I am here," the familiar voice called back from her left. She made her way there, stepping over prone men who moaned or prayed or both. She found herself at her squire's side. She was so relieved she threw her arms around him. She remembered herself just before she leaned to kiss his cheek. Glancing around she saw puzzled looks and a leering man with a broken arm.

  "What happened?" she asked rather inanely.

  Albrecht gestured to her water bottle. As she pulled out the bung he began, "It was just as we were making our escape from the Danishmend camp. Thomas found and stole a horse. I got up behind him, and as we headed toward this place I felt something whack my thigh hard. I knew it was an arrow. I just did not know if it was poisoned." Her look made him rush to add, "It doesn't seem like it was. Funny, I did not feel any pain. Just all of a sudden I could not sit upright. I held onto Thomas as we rode away." He tried to grasp her arm. "I can't believe you are still alive, Elisa-Elias." He took a long draught of the water and replaced the bung.

  "Is . . . is your wound mortal?" She gestured to the blood-soaked bandage on his leg.

  "No, I think I just lost a lot of blood. I am starting to feel like I will make it. I hope so anyway. I have something to live for now."

  She formed the word "Andronikos" without voicing the name.

  Albrecht nodded. "What about you? Are you wounded?" he prodded.

  "Uh, yes, some bad cuts and lots of bruises." She shrugged. "Albrecht, I had it. The battle fever. I just went mad and killed everything I could reach. I hope I did not kill any of our own men."

  He squeezed her arm. "What about the others?"

  "Ragnar is dead. Ranulf is alive. Thomas is dead."

  Albrecht's face screwed up in a spasm of pain. When he got his voice back, he groaned, "Oh no, God bless him. He saved my life. He must have joined the fight after he got us back here." He looked at her. "That just leaves Ranulf. Is he all right?"

  Elisabeth shrugged. "In body, I think so. In spirit, not at all. I just met Black Beast in the camp. He and Alain made it. And the Beast's squire, but Alain's is missing and so are Gerhardt and his squire."

  The man beside him had finally gotten Elisabeth's notice. She turned back from giving the man, who was clearly dying, a drink from her water bottle.

  "What now?" Albrecht asked.

  "More fighting tomorrow, I suppose. Until we are all dead." She sighed.

  The long, hot, exhausting day left the bulk of the pilgrim army unable to do much more than collapse where they stood, to sleep deeply with troubled dreams as the night folded over them. Somewhere in the dark a child fussed. Men who were bruised or wounded by the Turkish arrows moaned. The sound of weeping came from a few women in the camp, women whose men lay out on the plain unclaimed and unburied.

  Neither Elisabeth nor Ranulf could sleep. As they sat together on the ground, he spoke his own thoughts to her. He saw over and over in his mind Ragnar's death, saw the grin on the Dane's face as the Turk's weapon came down and destroyed him.

  "I told you Thomas is dead. I could not see how it could be otherwise. I went to find him among the wounded being treated by what healers they had, but had no luck. He was also not among the known dead. He was nowhere to be found, probably out there on the strip of battlefield the Turks hold now, lying in his own blood."

  He went on almost absently to describe how Ruggiero's body lay leagues and leagues away, picked clean to the bones by carrion birds and animals.

  Elisabeth could guess what went through his head once he fell silent. Ranulf was alone. Well and truly alone. The reason to go on seemed like a gossamer thread now. What matter that he had broken his promise to the woman in Mainz. His guilt, his desire for redemption meant three good men, his friends, were dead. She could see that he fingered the ring, Ruggiero's ring, in his pouch. She hoped he would try to stay alive at least long enough to get it to the Italian's widow.

  She became aware that off to one side of the camp men were stirring. Ranulf looked distractedly in that direction, but it was dark and what fires there were lay between them and the sounds. Most likely some knights and perhaps even one of the leaders were deserting. After the desertions of the day before, the fact that other knights and soldiers might find the cover of dark convenient to slip away did not surprise either of them. Aloud, she idly wondered who it was. They could hear horses being saddled. Sometime after, men mounted these horses and rode off to the north. It was not a large force, perhaps two or three dozen men, all mounted, and the two lost interest. Her own complete lack of desire to desert and leave her comrades' bodies behind preoccupied her.

  Dozing, propped up on their saddles, they woke at the sounds of angry voices. It was just before dawn, she gauged by the light to the east. They listened to the growing tumult of shouts. There was disbelief in them, outrage. Elisabeth watched Ranulf as he stretched, dragged himself to his feet, relieved himself where he stood, and, picking up his helm, walked toward the gathering crowd with it under his arm. She tried to keep her eye on him, but her head was full of mush. She pieced together what she could observe with difficulty.

  The people encircled the area where Ranulf remembered one of the noble leaders of the pilgrimage had his tent. The people standing between him and the tent were shaking their fists in the air, arguing with each other in clumps, shouting abuse and obscenities. When Stephen of Blois and the Count of Burgundy came up, Ranulf took advantage of the crowd parting to follow them.

  In the space before the tent, which Ranulf now recalled belonged to the supreme leader of the pilgrimage, Count Raymond of Toulouse, the two Stephens entered the circle of angry faces to find their worst suspicions confirmed. Raymond and all of his Provençal knights, gone. The tent was still there. When Blois walked to it and pulled aside the entry flap, Ranulf could see that the furnishings remained, the camp bed, the carpets, a couple chests, but there was no sign of the great hero of Antioch.

  "Abandoned!" a high-ranking cleric screamed, shaking his fist in the Duke of Burgundy's face. He proceeded to drown the man with invective laced with ecclesiastical threats and condemnation. Stephen winced and turned away without attempting to respond.

  Blois came back to him from the flap of the tent. He went to the Count's side, both their backs to the cleric. They spoke agitatedly for a while, too far from Ranulf for him to hear their words. Ranulf glanced over at Odo, who immediately began arguing with the cleric, whose face was still pale but rigid as a stone carving. As Ranulf wat
ched his face began to soften, his lips, cheeks and eyes to droop. Finally he slumped visibly and nodded at the Count of Burgundy. He realized what they were discussing and shivered.

  As he left the mass of people, he saw Conrad making his way in.

  By midmorning the camp was in an uproar. Knights from all factions packed up their gear and prepared to leave. Ranulf found Elisabeth with Albrecht.

  As soon as she saw him, she dashed to him. "We are retreating!" she called, her voice a mix of disbelief and guilty relief. "Will the Turks let us go?"

  Ranulf did not reply. Instead he walked to where Albrecht was sitting up and gazed long and dourly at him.

  "Well?" Elisabeth demanded.

  He remained silent. His eyes swept the camp. The noncombatants were as busy packing up as the knights and the infantry. His look was speculative.

  Elisabeth grew quiet, watching and then following his eyes. "Oh God, you aren't thinking . . . " Her voice trailed off in horror.

  He nodded. "I am afraid so."

  Elisabeth's voice sounded like a young boy's, almost like a woman's. "What do we do?"

  "What is there to do?" he asked softly after a short silence.

  She looked about, then down at Albrecht. Finally she looked at the people in the camp, the women, children, old men and old women, and the wounded. Again she voiced the question she had asked him. "Will the Turks let us go?" This time it was not a demand. This time it was spoken without a spark of hope.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "They will just be glad to see the back of us. They will let us go," he said with all the certainty he did not feel. He bowed his head. "Has Conrad said anything about his plans?"

  "I don't know. I've been here all morning, and no one has come in here to tell us what is going on." She looked at Albrecht, deep lines of worry etching her features.

  Ranulf leaned and slapped Albrecht on his arm. "I had better go get my horse ready. Shall we try to meet here before we set out? I have no place with any of the armies anymore. And I know you two will want to leave together."

  "Here is a good place. I will get the horses ready and come back. I want to help these families prepare to leave."

  Ranulf nodded sadly, "I will as well."

  A short distance away the Turks and Danishmend were preparing for whatever the day would bring. At first the preparations for departure looked no different from preparations for battle, but as it became apparent the pilgrims were getting ready to retreat, the sound of cheers broke out all up and down the camp. They expected to win this day, but the ease of it and the chance for plunder becoming certain made Seljuk and ally hearts sing.

  Leading Gauner carefully through the emptying soldiers' camp Elisabeth, who could not find Albrecht's horse, Carlchen, saw the beginning of the exodus. She frowned as she saw Stephen of Blois set out north with his household knights and noble clerics ensconced in their midst. "Not even a benediction," she thought.

  Only a little while later as she helped an old woman strap her meager belongings to a sumpter mule she saw Stephen and Odo of Burgundy and their parties ride off after them. The infantry was still preparing to leave. Men came among their families to help them. She had not seen Conrad yet.

  "Elias!" a voice called from behind her. She whirled to see Black Beast hurrying through the milling crowd of camp followers. "Conrad says to get back to our camp. We're heading for the Black Sea."

  She stood rigid with the news that Conrad had joined the retreat. She did not blame him. It would be suicide to stay, but some part of her expected him, wanted him to take a more heroic stand than had the Franks, Normans and Italians. She looked into the big man's face. "I'm staying with these people, the wounded. They need our help."

  The Beast scowled at her. "These would not be the first wounded to be left behind. How does it serve to damn ourselves along with them?"

  A spark in her eye accompanied her words. "It seems to me that not helping them is what will damn us."

  He flinched. In a quieter voice he told her, "Gerhardt is dead. Alain already left with the Burgundians."

  She looked away, her face contorted. "How did Gerhardt die?"

  "I found out that he took a wound as we rode back from that pitiful little village. He never even got to fight. He died after we got here. I am surprised you did not know. I suppose you were with those mercenaries."

  She lifted her chin. "You mean my friends. Yes, but now all of them but their captain are dead as well."

  He stared at her from under his bushy black eyebrows. He reached out his hand. "And soon you will be as well, young Elias. It has been an honor to be your comrade, if not one of your friends."

  She felt the feminine impulse to soothe him, to reassure him she was his friend, but she steeled herself. She reached out and they stood, clasping each other's hands, looking directly into each other's eyes. Each stepped back and made a sharp salute. Black Beast gave her one last look of regret and spun and walked away.

  "What are you doing, Elisabeth?" Albrecht, who stood unevenly at her side, asked.

  She shot him a glare. "That's 'my lord,' if you please."

  Albrecht took an involuntary step backward. He was about to say something else when they both heard the ululating battle cries of the Seljuk.

  The crowd of noncombatants started to scream. Some began to look desperately for somewhere to run. The fighting men who had come back to their families seemed unable to decide whether to get back to their positions or to stay and try to protect them. Children, separated from their parents in the sudden panic, stood and wailed.

  "Dear God in Heaven," she breathed. "They are attacking. Quick, get up on Gauner. I will mount behind you."

  "No! Take my horse!" Ranulf came up to them as quickly as he could make his way through the panicking crowds.

  "You need your horse!" she screamed back.

  "No, I am staying to guard the rear. There are plenty of horses without riders. I can get one." He spun and picked up a woman holding a small child and hoisted them both to his saddle. "If you take my horse now you and Albrecht can help a few of these people to escape."

  The woman, terrified, twisted out of his arms as she landed atop the horse, slid off the other side and ran screaming away from them. He growled but urged Elisabeth to mount Gauner, then helped Albrecht onto his own horse. Going back to Elisabeth he reached into the front of his brigandine and drew out a small sack. He handed it to her once she was in the saddle. "This is Ruggiero's ring. I don't have anything from Ragnar or Thomas. But there's gold in the purse too. Give it to some church for masses for Rachel's soul. But don't tell them she was a Jew."

  "Get up behind me, Ranulf. Gauner can carry us both."

  "No, you need to be free to use your weapons. If you can save someone, good, but I need to stay and protect these people." He slapped Gauner's rump, turned and ran away.

  Gauner danced around in a circle reacting to the slap. As she looked at his retreating back she lifted her eyes. "Oh my God!"

  The Turks were hurtling toward the camp. The men-at-arms had gone, though as she looked over she could see the rear of their lines heading north. She realized that the people in the camp had no hope. They would be cut down to a person. "Albrecht, let's go!" she screamed as she hunted for someone to rescue. A wounded soldier limped to her. "Albrecht, take this man on your horse!" she shouted as she kicked Gauner to the woman who had fled Ranulf. The woman now understood and let herself be pulled up behind Elisabeth. The Knight of Winterkirche led the way in the direction of the infantry, allowing herself one glance over her shoulder. She saw Ranulf standing facing the onslaught of Turks, his sword raised to meet them. She could not watch what she was sure happened next.

  The Paynim forces rode into the camp, taking time to butcher all the men and the old women as they tore through it. Elisabeth and her companions did not see it, but they could hear the screams and cries, the triumphant shouts of the enemy. A number of mounted men corralled and restrained all the remaining women an
d children. Old women and men were useless, more trouble than they were worth, but the women and children would fetch good prices in the slave markets. Some of the women would wind up as concubines or even wives of Seljuk and Danishmend commanders.

  As Elisabeth and Albrecht with their burdens tore around the infantry to try to regain the mounted Germans, those enemy horsemen not preoccupied with the spoils of the camp pursued the Christian foot soldiers. These men, with no better means to escape then their own weary legs, started to drop everything they were carrying. From helms to armor to weapons and finally to their valuables and prizes, they abandoned anything they thought would slow them down. All of it was left behind to enrich the Turks. What they did not drop did as well anyway, as the enemy caught up and cut down everyone they could catch. The screams of fury and pain matched the volume of the shouts of triumph and bloodthirsty glee.

  Of the thousands who arrived in Byzantium, mostly knights escaped. The infantry, the camp followers and the common clerics were slaughtered or carried off to become slaves. The total survivors could not have numbered much more than six score, mostly nobles and their households. Among them the only peasants were the few that knights like Elisabeth and her squire took pity on.

  While Saint Gilles and his party found a ship at the Byzantine port of Bafra that would take them fairly quickly to Constantinople, the rest of the leaders with the few who survived in their parties fought their way across the Halys and then headed north to the town of Sinope. There they turned west along the coastal road toward the Sublime Port.

  Once beyond the immediate threat of the pursuit, Elisabeth and Albrecht rode silently. The wounded man he had taken onto his horse located friends and went to travel with them. The woman who had the small child reached around Albrecht to try to help him, as his thigh wound was bleeding and extremely painful. Elisabeth rode alone. She thought of Ranulf, of Thomas, Ragnar and Ruggiero and the knight, Gerhardt. She wondered if Black Beast and Alain had made it out alive. She thought of the golden city ahead and of her sweet Maliha. She wondered how the Emperor would receive them, their pilgrimage collapsed in total disaster, and what's more, dishonor. She let the tears fall as they might. In her mind's eye was a plain littered with hundreds, even thousands of the dead, soldiers, knights, clerics, peasants, and a few noble mercenaries.