Templar

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Eleanor,’ he hissed, ‘times have changed. No more sword! More wit, more wisdom! Come with us.’

  He led her and Simeon across the bleak, foul-smelling camp to Bohemond’s tent. Inside, the Norman, dressed in a furred robe, his long yellow hair falling down either side of his face, sprawled on cushions talking quietly to Theodore and Godefroi. He paused as Eleanor entered, remembered his manners, scrambled to his feet and gave the most elaborate bow before gesturing at the heap of cushions and bolsters prepared for them. Eleanor sat down. She stared at the great Norman; those piercing blue eyes in the ruddy, weatherbeaten face glared back. Bohemond could never stay still; now he turned and fidgeted. Occasionally he would glance at her lecherously, look away, then stare piteously as if beseeching her help. Wine was poured, precious sweetmeats served. Bohemond waited until the tent emptied of servants before getting to his feet. He went outside, breathing noisily as he stared around, ensuring no eavesdropper lurked. When he returned, he flopped down on to the cushions and jabbed a stubby finger at Eleanor.

  ‘You are our Trojan horse.’

  She stared steadily back.

  ‘The Trojan horse: you know the story?’ he asked.

  Eleanor nodded.

  ‘We cannot take Antioch.’ Bohemond shook his head. ‘Not by storm or by stealth. Remember the Antiochene boast, that their city can only be captured by starvation, surprise or treachery. We have decided upon treachery.’ His powerful face creased into a smile, then he tapped his chest as if confessing his sins. ‘Well, not all of us, just me.’

  ‘My lord,’ Eleanor spoke up, ‘what need of me? You talk of stealth and treachery. How can I assist you in that?’

  ‘Oh, very easily.’ Bohemond pulled himself up and stretched, and Eleanor realised why he was such a fearsome figure amongst the Franks. He was square-shouldered, slim-waisted, a powerful, deep-chested man, his long square face framed by that yellow hair, those eyes, icy blue, constantly moving, constantly searching. She stared round the tent at the various scraps of armour and harness, weapons piled in a tangle, manuscripts tossed in a heap. Here, Eleanor reflected, was a man eager to grasp something, anything. At first Bohemond acted the blustering soldier, revelling in his own achievements, pretending to be drunk, cursing the other leaders, describing how he would have arranged matters. As Eleanor sat and watched, she realised that Bohemond was a very dangerous man. He acted as if he was tipsy, yet he was cold-stone sober. He clasped Godefroi and Hugh as if they were comrades-in-arms, then he would move on to a story about his father or his brothers, his wars in Sicily and his hatred for the Greeks, before returning to the siege. Eleanor realised he was trying to prepare her as a man would seduce a woman, offering signs of his bluntness and honesty, his desire to do what was right. What also emerged was his deep hunger for Antioch. He had seen the city and wanted it for himself. He’d realised he couldn’t take it by force so he would try other means. He stopped abruptly halfway through a tirade against Godfrey of Bouillon and glared at her.

  ‘Eleanor, you want to save your soul?’

  ‘It is already saved, my lord,’ she answered. ‘Christ’s blood has bought it.’

  That confused him. He blinked, slurped from his goblet and slammed it down. He glanced at Hugh and Godefroi then at Theodore, Simeon and Eleanor. At last, as if tired of the pretence, he moved his hand across his face, stroking his brow, eyes closed tight.

  ‘If we don’t take Antioch,’ he said slowly, ‘we might as well go home.’

  Eleanor, tired, exasperated at this meeting, which seemed to be leading nowhere, lost her temper.

  ‘My lord, why are we here?’

  Bohemond’s head went down, that glorious mane of hair shrouding his face, then glanced up. ‘I am asking you to sacrifice yourself,’ he said. ‘All right.’ He pushed his hands forward, palms towards her, fingers extended in the sign of peace. ‘I’ve blustered, I’ve bragged, I’ve threatened, I’ve promised, but at the end of the day, Eleanor de Payens, I need you. Now I can sit here and give you sweet verses from the troubadours, lines from the poets—’

  ‘My lord, why are we here?’ Eleanor insisted, ‘What do you want from me?’ She glared at Hugh, who looked away. Godefroi, embarrassed, simply stared down at the floor and shuffled his cup. Simeon plucked nervously at his jerkin. Theodore sat, one hand over the lower part of his face, as if he sensed what was coming.

  ‘Very well.’ Bohemond took a deep breath. ‘We will never take Antioch by force. We can build towers, we can launch forays, this, that and the other. The Turks know exactly what we are doing. They have spies amongst us. If I discovered who they were, I would take them out myself, drag them down to the river bank and pluck their heads as a farmer would a flower, but what is the use of that?’ He smiled at Eleanor. ‘Terror without a reason is diabolic; terror with a reason is understandable, it’s logical. Now, Eleanor, this is what I plot. I want spies to go into Antioch, and this is how it can be done. Theodore is a Greek mercenary. He will enter the city with his wife, namely you. He will claim he has had enough of the Frankish army and wants to sell his sword to the victorious party. If he brings the sister of a high-ranking Frankish knight, together with her scribe and maidservant, people might accept that he is speaking the truth. In a word, Eleanor, you, Theodore, Simeon and Imogene will enter Antioch as our spies. Once there you will seek out someone, anyone, who will betray part of that wall to us.’

  Eleanor stared across the table at Theodore. She was putting her life into this man’s hands. She trusted him, yet she didn’t really know him. She glanced at Hugh, who stared resolutely back.

  ‘It is a sacrifice,’ Bohemond said softly, ‘that you and your companions will make on behalf of us all. We must have someone behind the walls of Antioch. Someone quick-witted who will seize any opportunity and use it for the Army of God.’ He pushed himself closer so Eleanor could view his face in the light of the needle-thin candle: strong and brutal, the golden moustache and beard streaked with grey, the skin all peeling but his eyes blazing with passion. She recognised that look; she’d seen the same in her brother’s eyes. She looked at Godefroi, who was still staring into his cup. Simeon stirred restlessly.

  ‘There is no need for you to come,’ Eleanor whispered.

  ‘No, mistress-sister, I will be safe with you.’

  Bohemond’s lip curled in a smile. ‘Well said, Simeon,’ he declared. ‘Eleanor de Payens is your sure defence. If she left you here, those in this camp who resent your presence might act. Moreover, we need you in Antioch. You know the ways and customs of the enemy, their tongue. You could be of great assistance.’

  ‘And what if,’ Eleanor asked, ‘we go through the gates of Antioch and are arrested, taken up on to the battlements. Theodore and Simeon are executed. I am raped, stabbed and decapitated and our heads are flung back into the camp. There is that risk.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bohemond agreed, ‘as there is every risk that Turkish light horse might attack the camp tonight and you could suffer a similar fate.’ He drummed his thick, muscular fingers on the top of the small table before him. ‘Think, Eleanor! The Turks will do you no harm. Why should they? If deserters from this army are brutally executed, that would discourage others. Already men are leaving, mercenaries selling their swords to the highest bidder. Why should they execute you and Theodore? No! No! They will boast of your presence. Who knows,’ he joked, ‘fortune might smile on you. You could be treated as guests of honour, given furnished quarters, good food and drink, a chance to bathe, to be clean and warm, well away from this stinking, freezing camp.’ He paused. The tent flap shifted; a draught of cold air seeped through.

  ‘There is something else.’ Hugh spoke up.

  ‘My lord, wait.’ Eleanor held up a hand. ‘We are in the retinue of Raymond of Toulouse. Does he know?’

  ‘Yes, and he agrees,’ declared Hugh. He leaned across the table and grasped his sister’s hand. ‘If you don’t want to go, you need not, we shall think no worse of you. Count Raymond also
believes the only way Antioch will fall is through treachery. For that we need someone we can trust.’

  ‘You said there was something else?’

  Hugh let go of her hands and turned, staring at the tent flap. ‘Listen, Eleanor!’

  She did so. Faint sounds: a woman screaming, a man shouting curses.

  ‘Bishop Adhémar believes,’ Hugh said softly, ‘that one of the reasons we face such obstacles is because the Army of God needs to do reparation, to purge itself, to express sorrow for its sins. He has persuaded our leaders that all women must leave the camp. People like yourself and Imogene will be escorted to the port of St Simeon to await events. The whores, prostitutes and camp followers are to be summarily driven out.’

  Eleanor gasped in surprise.

  ‘It is harsh,’ Bohemond spoke up, ‘but necessary. For God’s sake, woman, we are supposed to be the Army of God, yet we house a crowd of tinkers, moon people, troubadours, whores and catamites. Bishop Adhémar is right! Our camp should be purged, the army must cleanse itself, express its sorrow and receive absolution. We are not talking about women like you, but others. They bring nothing, they offer nothing, yet they eat and drink and impede our progress. Within the week they will be driven from the camp.’

  ‘And Imogene?’ Eleanor asked. ‘You called her my maidservant.’

  Hugh looked at Bohemond, who nodded slightly. ‘Imogene must go with you.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘No. You will simply say that she must follow you. She will be given no opportunity to discuss this or talk to anyone about what is happening.’ Hugh paused. ‘It is logical for you to take a servant. Moreover, Imogene cannot stay here to chatter her surprise and, perhaps, her disbelief at your desertion.’

  ‘Such an observation,’ Godefroi spoke up, ‘might endanger you.’

  ‘And Beltran?’

  ‘He does not know, nor will he. Only Count Raymond and the people in this tent know the truth. It’s best that way.’

  ‘You see,’ Bohemond took up the thread, ‘we want you not only to enter Antioch and discover ways of betraying it, but, if possible, discover who the Turkish spies in our army are. Now of course we know there are Armenian traders,’ he lifted a hand in a weak apology to Simeon, ‘but is there someone else who has an ear at our council door and informs Yaghi Siyan about what we plan? I ride out to forage and I am ambushed. At the same time, because I have left the camp, the enemy attack. Coincidence or a plot? Is there a traitor?’

  ‘And what happens,’ Simeon spoke up, ‘if we fail, if we are captured or betrayed?’

  Bohemond chewed the corner of his lip, refusing to meet Eleanor’s eye. ‘If that happens, and we discover it, we will bargain for your lives. If we fail, I will have Masses sung for your souls.’

  ‘And what happens if you fail?’ Eleanor asked. ‘What if the army moves down to the coast to take ship?’

  Bohemond pointed at Theodore. ‘He has gold, silver and letters hidden away in a certain place in our camp. If the Army of God retreats, Theodore will seize the opportunity to leave as swiftly as possible. After all, what is the point of staying in Antioch if it will never be ours?’

  Eleanor caught the change in his voice. Bohemond had nearly said ‘mine’. He smiled to himself as if realising the mistake he’d narrowly missed. ‘Antioch must be taken,’ he continued. ‘Once we have that, we shall march on Jerusalem.’

  ‘And when do we leave?’

  ‘Now!’ Hugh spoke up. ‘Tonight, sister. The moon is only a quarter, the sky filling with clouds; there will be more rain. You will be led down to Bridge Gate and left to your own devices. The real danger is being recognised by our own soldiers and attacked as traitors, or by Turkish guards thinking you plan mischief. If you do enter Antioch safely and are accepted, Theodore knows what sign to give. Until then, sister, I shall pray, as will everybody in this tent, that you remain safe. Will you go?’

  Eleanor glanced at Theodore. She wanted to refuse, yet she understood the logic of Bohemond’s plan. If things didn’t change, the army would simply rot away. The great cause would collapse and what could she do but wait with the rest? Yet in the end, her life would depend on that dark-faced soldier sitting opposite, so calm and poised. Despite the ravages of the weather, the deprivations of the siege, Theodore always kept himself clean and washed, his black moustache and beard neatly clipped, even oiled. A wild thought occurred to her. What if Theodore was a traitor? What happened if she was taken into Antioch and betrayed? The Greek glanced directly at her, liquid dark eyes full of amusement. Eleanor trusted few men: Hugh and Godefroi, but Theodore was a third. The die was cast. She was committed. She pushed back the cushions and rose.

  ‘I will go, and as you say, it’s best if we are gone within the hour. After all,’ she laughed sharply, ‘what possessions can I take? What do I have?’

  Bohemond rose and embraced her, followed by Hugh and Godefroi. Hugh came back and held her again, pressing her close.

  ‘Little sister,’ he said, ‘take care. So much depends, so much.’ He squeezed her again, kissed her on each cheek and, spinning on his heel, left the tent.

  Theodore escorted her through the camp. The Greek was well armed and carried a bundle ready to leave. Behind them Simeon was praying quietly under his breath in a tongue she could hardly understand. They reached their tent. Eleanor pulled back the flap and went in. Thankfully Imogene was by herself.

  ‘We have to go,’ Eleanor declared. ‘Imogene, we have to go now. You must follow me; you must trust me. Take what you can. We are not going far.’

  Imogene went to protest but Eleanor pressed her finger hard against the woman’s lips. ‘If you do not go, you will not be allowed to stay in the camp. You must trust me and follow me. Have I ever betrayed you?’

  Imogene, face startled, eyes full of fear, shook her head.

  ‘Then come!’

  Imogene, of course, grasped her carved wooden box and a few meagre possessions. Eleanor did the same. Simeon packed his writing tray and leather pannier, then they rejoined Theodore. As they walked through the camp, Eleanor kept her eyes to the ground to hide her own nervousness. They reached the picket lines and slipped through. Apparently the guards had been withdrawn and they made their way across the muddy, slippery ground down towards Bridge Gate. The night was dark, the wind chilling and cutting. From the shadowy battlements pricks of light glowed. Theodore stopped abruptly, putting down his small roll of baggage and bringing up the arbalest he carried. He opened the pouch on his belt and, taking out a bolt, slipped it into the groove, winching back the cord. At first Eleanor couldn’t understand until she heard it, a sound behind them. Someone was following them! Imogene moaned. Simeon immediately put a hand across her mouth. Theodore moved back, retracing their steps, then stopped.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called softy into the darkness. ‘Come forward.’ Three shapes emerged, cowled and cloaked. Eleanor caught the glint of eyes then straggling beards and moustaches. ‘Come closer,’ Theodore urged. ‘Push back your cowls, lower your visors.’ The three arrivals obeyed, pulling down the strip of cloth over their mouths. Eleanor closed her eyes. Jehan the Wolf and his two companions, Gargoyle and Babewyn! They had followed them from the camp.

  ‘Well, friends,’ Theodore said softly, ‘how goes it? What are you doing here?’

  ‘We could ask the same,’ Jehan retorted impudently as he swaggered forward. ‘You are deserting, aren’t you? I saw the woman leave her tent and go to Count Bohemond’s. I followed you there and then you came back. What mischief are you plotting, friend? Whatever you are doing, we will join you. We’ve had enough of rotting vegetables and hard biscuits. They say we’ll be starving before the end of the month. We will come with you. You will vouch for us.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Theodore lifted the crossbow and released the catch, and the bolt took Jehan full in the chest, sending him spinning back. The other two were so surprised they stayed stock still. Again Theodore moved, sword and dagger drawn in a hiss
of steel. He attacked one, a swift thrust to the belly, and then the other, who was already trying to flee. Theodore’s dagger caught him in the back and he stumbled deeper into the darkness. Theodore followed. Eleanor heard a faint moan, a slight scream abruptly cut off. Theodore came back and wiped his sword on Jehan’s cloak. The Wolf was dead, but Gargoyle beside him was still juddering on the ground, trying to rise. Theodore moved swiftly over, pulled back the man’s head and cut his throat. Eleanor could only watch. Imogene swayed slightly on her feet. Simeon quietly vomited. Theodore resheathed his dagger, took his sword and neatly decapitated Jehan and then Gargoyle, before going back and doing the same to Babewyn in the darkness: an awful cutting sound followed by the drip of blood. Then he plucked up one of the cloaks, wrapped the three heads in it, tied the bundle with a belt taken from one of his victims and sauntered back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Simeon and Imogene had crouched down, holding each other, trying to control their tremors at the suddenness of the attack and Theodore’s silent, bloody work in the dark.

  ‘Why?’ asked Eleanor, pointing at the heads wrapped in the cloak, the blood already dripping through.

  ‘Why not?’ Despite the dark, Eleanor sensed Theodore was laughing. ‘What do you think would have happened? We would have entered Antioch and those three miscreants would have had us at their mercy. God knows what story they would have spun! They were treacherous. They were planning to desert, really desert. If Bohemond or Count Raymond had caught them, they would have been hanged.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Well, we can enter the gates of Antioch and show these heads as a guarantee. After all, Jehan did lead a company here. I’ll say they tried to stop us so we killed them. It will make our story all the more convincing.’ Theodore gestured towards the shadowy walls of the city. ‘They wait for us. Let’s not tarry any further.’ He brushed past Imogene and Simeon, who clambered to their feet. Eleanor followed, and they made their way down to the bridge. Behind them the noise of the camp receded, though she heard one shout of ‘Deus vult!’ She closed her eyes. If God wished it she would come through this safely and rejoin her brother, but in the meantime she stared at those forbidding soaring walls, the lights along the battlements. Within a few hours, she would know her fate. Either they would be accepted or, sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning, they would be past all care. Theodore stopped and came back, clutching her by the wrist.