‘Like me,’ she reminded him.
‘You are in service to a Christian lady,’ Peter avoided her challenge. ‘And anyway, I have seen that you are a good and loyal companion.’
‘Like the women of my race,’ she pressed. ‘Like the other infidels.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘We’ll know more when we have landed in the Holy Land.’
Isolde gave a little shiver of joy. ‘I can’t imagine it.’
Ishraq smiled at her. ‘Me neither.’
In the morning, after breakfast, the two girls, with the hoods of their capes pulled forward for modesty, came out of the inn door and walked along the quayside to the ship that would take them south, down the coast to Bari. Luca and Brother Peter went with them, Brother Peter carrying the precious manuscripts stitched into packages of oiled sheepskin against the damp, his writing box strapped on his back. On the quayside, amid the ships returning from their dawn fishing voyages, Freize was loading the donkey and the five horses.
The gangplank was wide and strong from the quayside onto the deck of the boat, and the first three horses went easily across the little bridge and into their stalls for the journey. Ishraq watched as the last horse, Brother Peter’s mount, jibbed at the gangplank and tried to back away. Freize put a hand on its neck and whispered to it, a few quiet words, and then unclipped the halter so the horse was quite free. Brother Peter exclaimed and looked around, ready to summon help to catch a loose horse, but Luca shook his head. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’
For a moment the horse stood still, realising that it had been loosed, and then Freize touched its neck once more and turned his back on it, walking across the gangplank on his own. The horse pricked its ears forwards as it watched him, and then delicately followed, its hooves echoing on the wooden bridge. When it came freely onto the deck, Freize patted it with a few words of quiet praise, and then clipped the rope on again and led it into the stalls in the ship.
‘They love him,’ Luca remarked, coming beside the two young women. ‘They really do. All animals trust him. It’s a gift. It’s like St Francis of Assisi.’
‘Does he have a kitten in his pocket?’ Ishraq asked, making Luca laugh.
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘I think he has been feeding a stray kitten and carrying it around,’ she said. ‘I moved his jacket from the dining room chair last night, and it squeaked.’
Isolde laughed. ‘It’s a ginger kitten – he found it days ago. I didn’t know he still had it.’
Freize came back off the boat. ‘There’s a little cabin and a cooking brazier,’ he told the girls. ‘You should be comfortable enough. And the weather is supposed to be good, and we will be there in a few hours. We should get into port at about dinner time.’
‘Shall we go aboard?’ Isolde asked Luca. The master was on the ship, shouting orders, the sailors ready to let go the ropes. The children of the crusade idly watched the preparations.
‘God bless them,’ Isolde said earnestly, one foot on the gangplank, her hand in Luca’s grasp. ‘And God bless you too, Luca. I will see you in Bari.’
‘In just a few days’ time,’ he said quietly to her. ‘It’s better that you travel like this, although I will miss you on the road. I won’t fail you. I shall see you there soon.’
‘Cast off!’ the master shouted. ‘All aboard!’
Brother Peter handed his box of manuscripts and his precious writing case to Freize to take into the little cabin. Isolde, holding the broadsword, turned to go up the gangplank when she felt the quayside suddenly shake beneath her feet. For a moment she thought that a ship had knocked against the quay and shaken the great slabs of stone, and she put out her hand and grasped the gangplank’s end beam. But then the shake came again and a deep low rumble, a noise so massive and yet hushed that she snatched Ishraq’s hand for fear and looked around. At once there was an anxious slapping on the side of the quay as a thousand little waves rippled in, as if blown by a sudden gale, though the sea was flat calm.
The children on the quayside jumped to their feet, as the ground shook beneath them, the younger ones cried out in fear. ‘Help me! Help me!’
‘What was that?’ Isolde asked. ‘Did you hear it? That terrible noise?’
Ishraq shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Something strange.’
‘I know that my Redeemer lives!’ Johann called out. Everyone turned to look at him. He was quite undisturbed. He spread his arms and smiled. ‘Do you hear the voice of God? Do you feel the touch of His holy hand?’
Luca stepped forwards to the girls. ‘Better go back to the inn . . .’ he started. ‘Something is wrong . . .’
The great noise came again, like a groan, so deep and so close that they looked up at the clear sky though there were no thunderclouds, and down again to the sea which was stirred with quick little waves.
‘God is speaking to us!’ Johann called to his followers, his voice clear over their questions. ‘Can you hear Him? Can you hear Him speaking through earthquake, wind and fire? Blessed be His Name. He is calling us to His service! I can hear Him. I can hear Him!’
‘Hear Him!’ the children repeated, the volume of their voices swelling like a chorus. ‘Hear Him!’
‘Earthquake?’ Isolde asked. ‘He said: earthquake, wind and fire?’
‘We’d better wait at the inn,’ Ishraq said uneasily. ‘We’d better not get on the boat. We’d better get under cover. If a storm is coming . . .’
Isolde turned with her, to go to the inn, when one of the children shouted, ‘Look! Look at that!’
Everyone looked where the child was pointing, to the steps of the quay where the water was splashing over the lower steps in an anxious rapid rhythm. As they watched, they saw an extraordinary thing. The tide was going out, ebbing at extraordinary speed, rushing like a river in spate, faster than any tide could go. The wet step dried in the bright sunshine as the next step was laid bare. Then, as the water receded, the green weed of the step beneath came into view, and the step below that, all the way down to the floor of the harbour. Water was pouring off the steps like a sudden waterfall, steps that no-one had seen since they were built in ancient times were now suddenly dry and in the open air, and in the harbour bed the sea was flowing backwards, running away from the land, falling away from the walls so that the depths were revealing all the secrets and becoming dry land once more.
It was a strange and hypnotic sight. Brother Peter joined the others as they crowded to the edge of the quay and gazed down as the water seeped away. The sea revealed more and more land as it crept further and further out. The horses on the deck neighed in terror as their boat grounded heavily on the harbour floor, other boats nearby hung on their ropes at the quayside wall or, further out in what had been deeper water, dropped and then rolled sideways as the sea fled away from them, leaving them abandoned and their anchors helplessly exposed, thrust naked into the silt – huge and heavy and useless.
‘And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea; and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided!’ Johann cried from the back of the crowd. There were screams of joy, and children crying with fear, as he walked through them all to stand on the brink of the quayside and look down into the harbour, where crabs were scuttling across the silt of the harbour floor and fish were slapping their tails in trapped pools of water. ‘And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea; and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided!’ he said again. ‘See – God has made the sea into dry land – just for us. This is the way to Jerusalem!’
Isolde’s cold hand crept into Luca’s. ‘I’m afraid.’
Luca was breathless with excitement. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t dream it could happen! He said it would happen but I couldn’t believe it.’
Ishraq exchanged one frightened glance wi
th Isolde. ‘Is this a miracle of your God?’ she demanded. ‘Is He doing it? Right now?’
On board the grounded ship, the tethered horses and the donkey were rearing against their ropes. Freize walked among them, trying to calm them down as they pulled their heads away from their halters, their hooves clattering against the wooden stalls. The wooden gangplank had sunk down at one end with the ship. Now it splintered and broke, falling down into the silt of the harbour.
‘Hush, my lovelies, be calm! Be calm!’ Freize called to the horses. ‘We’re all settled here now. High and dry, nothing to fear, I am sure. Be calm and in a moment I’ll have you out of here.’
‘Follow me! Follow me!’ Johann cried, and started down the stone steps of the quay. ‘This is the way, this is the way to Jerusalem! This is the way made straight!’
The children followed him at once, filled with excitement at the adventure. At the back someone started to sing the Canticle of Simeon: ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou has prepared before the face of all people . . .’
‘God shows us the way!’ Johann cried out. ‘God leads us to the Promised Land. He makes the wet places dry and we shall walk to the Holy Land!’
‘Should we go with him?’ Isolde asked Luca, trembling with hope and fear. ‘Is this truly a miracle?’
Luca’s face was alight. ‘I can’t believe it! But it must be. Johann said that there would be dry land to Jerusalem, and here is the sea pouring away from the land!’
The children were singing like a thousand-strong choir, spilling down the steps of the harbour, some of them jumping off the wet steps and laughing as they went ankle deep into the silt, picking their way through the thick wet weeds where the shells of big black mussels crunched under their feet, walking hand in hand, scores of them, hundreds of them, side by side, winding their way around the grounded ships and old wrecks, to the mouth of the harbour where the sea still retreated before them, further and further out towards the horizon, far quicker than they could walk, as it built a bridge of land for them, just for them, all the way to Palestine.
‘I think we should go,’ Luca decided, his heart racing. ‘Go with them now. I think it’s a true miracle.’
Luca went to the head of the harbour steps, Brother Peter beside him. ‘D’you think this is true?’ Luca shouted, his brown eyes bright with excitement.
‘A miracle,’ the older man confirmed. ‘A miracle, and that I should see it! Praise be to God!’
‘What are you doing?’ Ishraq demanded, alarmed. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
‘I have to see,’ Luca spoke over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the disappearing sea. ‘I have to see the new land. Johann is leading the children to Jerusalem. I have to see this.’
Freize, on the grounded boat, trying to steady the horses, suddenly let out a sharp yelp of pain. The pocket of his jacket was jumping and squirming. His fingers were bloody from where he had reached inside. He tried again and pulled out the small ginger kitten. She was a little ball of spitting terror, her fur on end, her eyes madly green. She struggled wildly in his grip, he let her drop to the deck and she bounded away, agile as a monkey, up the straining mooring rope to the quayside, racing for the inn. But she didn’t go in the open door, she swarmed up the vine that grew by the door and scrambled onto the tiled roof. She did not stop there but went higher, up to the very smoke vent, and balanced on top of the highest point on the quayside, her claws scrabbling on the terracotta tiles, as she clung to the roof, yowling with terror.
‘No!’ Freize suddenly shouted, his voice loud and frightened over the singing of the children. He vaulted over the side of the boat, dropping heavily into the sludge of the harbour floor. He struggled round the grounded boat to the lowest of the wet harbour steps, slipping on the seaweed and grabbing a mooring ring in the wall to stop himself from falling. He crawled, his feet slipping and sliding, to the top of the steps where Luca, almost in a trance, was starting to walk down, his face radiant. Freize barrelled into him, grabbed him round the waist pushing him back to the quayside, and thrust him bodily towards the inn.
‘I want to see . . .’ Luca struggled against him. ‘Freize – let me go! I’m going! I’m walking!’
‘It’s not safe! It’s not safe!’ Freize babbled. ‘The kitten knows. The horses know. God help us all. Something terrible is going to happen. Get into the inn, get into the attic, get onto the roof if you can. Like the kitten! See the kitten! The sea is going to turn on us.’
‘It’s parting,’ Brother Peter argued, standing his ground. ‘You can see. Johann said that it would part for him and he would walk to Jerusalem. He’s going, the children are going; we’re going with him.’
‘No, you’re not!’ Freize pushed Luca roughly towards the inn, slapping him on his shoulders in frustration. ‘Take Isolde!’ he shouted into Luca’s bright face, shaking his shoulders. ‘Take Ishraq! Or they’ll drown before your eyes. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want to see the waters come back and sweep Isolde away?’
Luca woke as if from a dream. ‘What? You think the sea will come back?’
‘I’m sure of it!’ Freize shouted. ‘Get them to safety. Get them out of here! Save the girls! Look at the kitten!’
Luca shot one horrified look at the kitten which was still clinging to the topmost point of the roof, spitting with fear, and then grabbed Isolde’s hand and Ishraq’s arm and hurried them both into the inn. Isolde would have held back but Ishraq was as frightened as Freize, and dragged her onwards. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘If it’s a miracle, then the sea will stay dry. We can follow later. Let’s get inside, let’s get up to our bedroom. We can look from the window. Come on, Isolde!’
Freize saw they were on their way to safety and turned back and ran down the stone steps to the damp floor of the harbour, his boots churning in the deep mud. ‘Come back!’ he shouted to the children. ‘Come back. The sea will turn! That’s not the way!’
They were singing so loudly, in such happy triumph, that they did not even hear him. ‘Come back!’ Freize yelled. He started to run after them, slipping on the silt and the weeds, splashing doggedly through the puddles of seawater in his big boots. The slowest children at the back turned when they heard him and paused when they saw him coming, waving his arms and shouting.
‘Go back!’ Freize commanded them. ‘Go back to the village!’
They hesitated, uncertain what they should do.
‘Go back, go back,’ Freize said urgently. ‘The sea will turn, it will wash into the harbour again.’
Their blank faces showed that they could not understand him, their whole conviction, their whole crusade, was pressing them onwards. Johann had promised them this miracle and they believed that it was happening then and there. All their friends, all their fellow pilgrims were convinced, they were singing as they walked, further and further towards the harbour mouth where the receding sea shone white as it rushed away southwards. They all wanted to go together. They could see their road unfolding before them.
‘Sweetmeats,’ Freize said desperately. ‘Go to the inn, they are giving away free sweets.’
Half a dozen children turned, and started to go back to the quayside.
‘Hurry!’ Freize shouted. ‘Hurry or they’ll be all gone. Run as fast as you can!’
He caught another half-dozen children and told them the same thing. They turned to go back and so did their friends who were a little before them.
Freize battled his way, pushing through the children to the front of the crowd. ‘Johann!’ he shouted. ‘You are mistaken!’
The boy’s face was bright with conviction, his eyes fixed on the sea that still receded steadily, invitingly, before him. The harbour mouth was dry, and yet still the sea drained away and the tawny mud unrolled before them like a Berber rug, like a dry smooth road all the way to his destination. ‘God has made the way dry for me,’ he said simply. ‘You can walk wit
h me. Tomorrow morning we will walk into Palestine and dine on milk and honey. I see it, though you do not see it yet. I am walking dry-shod, as I said we would.’
‘Please,’ Freize shouted. ‘Walk tomorrow. When it has had time to dry out properly. Don’t go now. I’m afraid the waters will come . . .’
‘You are afraid,’ Johann said gently. ‘You doubted from the beginning, and now you are afraid, as you will always be afraid. You go back. I shall go on.’
Freize looked back to the quayside. A scuff le caught his eye. The girl that he had first met with the bleeding feet was trying to get back to the quayside. Two boys had hold of her and were dragging her onward, trying to catch up with Johann. ‘You let her go!’ Freize called to them.
They held her tightly, pulling her onwards. Freize turned and ran back for her, burst through the two of them, pulled her away. ‘I want to go back to shore!’ she gasped. ‘I’m frightened of the sea.’
‘I’ll take you,’ he said.
Mutely, she lifted up her arms to him. Freize bent down and swung her up onto his shoulders, and turned to run clumsily back to the quayside, ploughing through the mud which sucked wetly at his feet, calling to the children to follow him as he ran.
He could hear the church bell of Piccolo starting to toll loudly, as the villagers poured out of their homes down to the quayside, the fishermen aghast at the state of the harbour and the loss of their ships. People were staring in wonderment at the anchors and chains lying alongside the beached craft, at the lobsters, dry in their pots, at the sudden extraordinary revelation of the floor of the harbour which was usually sixty feet under water.
Freize flung the little girl up the green steps and shouted at the people gathered there, starting to come down the steps to see the floor of the sea. ‘Go back! Go to your homes! Go to the hills! Get as high as you can. The waters will come back! There’s going to be a flood!’
Freize ploughed his way across the harbour mud to the grounded ship where the horses were rearing and kicking in the stalls on the boat. ‘Be still my dears!’ he called breathlessly. ‘I’m coming for you!’
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