The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  They all came bearing gifts, which they carried in boxes of carved sandalwood. Sometimes-depending, I think, on the rank of the guest

  – the amir met his visitor at the entrance to his tent, and welcomed him with a kiss. Most often, however, it was one of the amir's servants who, bowing low, directed the guest into the great man's presence.

  Not all of the amir's visitors were men. Many of the nobles brought women with them, and these, from what I could see of them, were even more magnificently arrayed than the men-although they hid their splendour under long hooded outer cloaks or gowns which covered them head to toe, and they wore veils across the lower parts of their faces so that between hood and veil, only their eyes were visible. But such eyes! Almond shaped and black as sloe, with long lashes and brows thin and dark and delicately curved.

  It put me in mind of Sydoni and I spent a long time happily thinking about her-until I remembered my grave predicament. If I had not been such an impetuous fool I would no doubt be with her now. My thoughts grew so forlorn and pitiable, that I was forced to put them off at last. It does no good to wallow in regret. What might have been is as impossible as what can never be.

  After awhile one of my guards fell asleep. As I had been standing in the sun for a goodly while, I sat down. The other guard did not like this; he hissed at me and gestured for me to stand up again, and I obliged. Soon, however, he was fast asleep, too, and so I sat down again and pulled my siarc over my head to keep the sun off me while I waited.

  The sun passed midday and began its long slow descent into the west. Still, I sat in my place, dozing now and again, and waiting for the amir, and still people came and went on errands of fealty and homage. As the sun began to stretch my shadow towards the entrance to the tent, I heard horses approaching.

  A party of Arab chieftains was riding into camp. I climbed to my feet and, as they dismounted, I darted in among them and started for the entrance to the amir's tent. One of the Arabs called for me to stop. I paid him no heed and kept walking. One of the guardsmen, roused by the shouting, woke up and saw me, however; he rushed upon me and dragged me back to my place where he was joined by two others and all three began shouting and raining blows upon my head.

  I do not know whether the disturbance I raised outside his tent drew the attention of the amir, but as I was lying on the ground, trying to protect my head and neck from the fists of the soldiers, a man suddenly appeared in the midst of the commotion.

  He barked a single sharp word of command and the men ceased their attack. I looked up to see the Atabeg of Albistan, the same who had captured me days before. He recognized me, too, and bade me rise; he pointed towards the tent and I saw the amir himself standing at the entrance surrounded by advisors and liegemen. He was frowning mightily, none too pleased at the interruption of his affairs.

  Rising slowly, I dusted myself off, and prepared for whatever would happen next.

  The unhappy amir beckoned his attendant nobleman to him. The atabeg put his hand on my arm and pulled me away from the guards, and I was brought before the amir where I was made to kneel at his feet. This was to humble me, but I did not greatly mind. It is no shame to acknowledge one who is above you, and inasmuch as I was a lowly hostage in his camp, Amir Ghazi was certainly superior in every way.

  The black amir scowled down at me. I cannot say what passed in his mind, but I bowed as I had seen the other noblemen do, touching my forehead to the ground, and then, employing my best Greek, said, 'My name is Duncan of Caithness, and I am a friend of Prince Thoros of Armenia.'

  He glared, and spoke a word of command and one of his advisors approached on the run. This fellow-an Armenian, I believe, for in manner, dress, and appearance he was very like those I had met at the banquet in Anazarbus-was an ungainly, sallow skinned man, with a large eagle-beaked nose and smooth, hairless jowls like the wattles of a pig, he cast a dour, pitiless black eye over me. 'Who are you?' he asked in Greek, suspicion thickening his reedy voice.

  I repeated what I had said before, and added, 'I am a pilgrim from a country in the far north-west, where I am a lord and nobleman. I befriended young Lord Roupen, brother of Prince Thoros, and son of Leo, and became his protector. I was leaving Anazarbus, and blundered upon the battle by mistake.'

  I could tell he did not believe me; he looked me up and down as if measuring for a coffin. 'See how I am dressed-are these the clothes of a crusader?' His frown of disbelief deepened. 'Also, we are speaking Greek,' I added.

  'Badly,' he sniffed, unimpressed.

  'Tell me your name,' I commanded.

  The Armenian stiffened slightly at my audacity. But he was well accustomed to taking orders, and replied, 'I am Katib Sahak of Tarawn, advisor to Amir Ghazi.'

  I thanked him, and said, 'I ask you now, Katib -'

  'Just Sahak only,' he said. 'Katib is an Arab word. It means scribe.'

  'I ask you, Sahak, do the Franks speak Greek?'

  At this, the Armenian turned and held close conversation with the amir, whose interest pricked slightly when he heard what Sahak had to say about me. Breathing a fervent prayer, I said, 'I had no part in Bohemond's army, and took no part in the battle. I was a guest of Prince Thoros and was captured by mistake. I was with three others when this man captured me.' Pointing to the atabeg, I said, 'Ask him if this is not so. The others were able to escape. I alone was captured.'

  Sahak discussed my story with the atabeg, who nodded, which I took as confirmation that I was telling the truth. 'The Atabeg of Albistan agrees that it happened the way you say,' the scribe confirmed. Ghazi spoke up then, and Sahak added, 'The amir demands proof.'

  Looking directly at the amir, I answered, 'Tell him I can prove I have come from the prince's household.' When my words were interpreted for the amir, I said, 'This was given to me by Princess Elena for aiding the return of her son, Roupen.'

  So saying, I pulled the neck of my siarc down and twisted it inside out to reveal the brooch I had pinned there the day I left Anazarbus. Sahak's eyes went wide with amazement. 'If you will look closely,' I said, directing their attention to the carved ruby, 'you will see that it bears the royal emblem.'

  I showed the gem to each of them in turn. Ghazi and the atabeg exchanged a few words, and the amir issued his command. 'Give me the brooch,' the Armenian translator said.

  I refused, saying, 'The amir has said the noblemen are to be ransomed. This,' I held the brooch before them, 'is to be my ransom. What is the word for ransom?' I asked. 'In the amir's tongue, what is the word?'

  'Namus'lu keza,' replied the advisor.

  Tapping the brooch with my finger, I repeated the word. 'Namus'lu keza,' I said, and prayed they understood what I was trying to tell them.

  The amir made up his mind. Speaking gruffly, he held out his hand to me.

  'Amir Ghazi says you are to give him the jewel.'

  I hesitated.

  'You have no choice,' Sahak informed me. 'You are to give it to him now. It will be sent to Anazarbus to inform them of your capture.'

  With great reluctance, I obeyed, unfastening the brooch and placing it in the amir's palm with a last appeal. 'Namus'lu keza.'

  The amir closed his hand over the brooch, turned on his heel and walked away, pausing to toss a word of command to the guards as he retreated to his tent. They took hold of me and I was taken back around the lake to resume my place with the captives.

  Girardus was glad at my return to the fold, so to speak. 'I never thought to see you again,' he confided. 'They are saying the amir is holding court, and judgements are being given.'

  'It is true,' I told him. Other captives gathered closer to hear. 'The amir is indeed holding court, and he seems to be renewing the loyalties of his vassal lords.' I went on to describe what I had seen of the comings and goings of all the noblemen and women and gifts they brought.

  When I finished, Girardus, who had assumed they had taken me away to be tortured or beaten, asked, 'What did they do to you?'

  'They kept me waiting
all day in the sun,' I answered, 'and then they brought me back here.'

  'Did you see the amir?'

  'I saw him,' I said glumly. 'I had hoped to persuade him to release me. He was not in a mood to be persuaded.'

  'He let you live,' Girardus concluded. 'That is something, at least.'

  I remained with the others that night and, wonder of wonders, the guards came for me the next morning and I was brought to stand before the amir's tent. As before, I waited as more, and still more, nobles and dignitaries came to pay homage to Amir Ghazi. I pondered the meaning of this activity, and it came to me that perhaps defeating Bohemond's army was an event of far greater significance for the Seljuqs than I knew.

  Ignorant of the forces and powers that held sway in the Holy Land, I could nevertheless imagine that a single great victory could produce a result with far-reaching implications for the man who accomplished it. Certainly, it would not be the first time a shrewd leader, having delivered a decisive conquest, had used it to concentrate his power.

  Further, I could well imagine that the hole left in the defences of Antioch had created an opportunity which such a leader might wish to exploit. What the astute amir had in mind, I could not guess, but the activity in the camp gave every indication that he was marshalling his support for an important undertaking.

  These thoughts occupied me until a little past midday, when the Atabeg of Albistan, whom I took to be one of the amir's chief advisors, emerged from the tent. He came to stand over me, and I rose quickly to my feet. After a cursory scrutiny, he signalled the guarding warriors, and I was escorted into the amir's tent.

  An Arab tent is a wondrous thing. With very little effort the desert folk make them as spacious and comfortable as palaces. The interior is often divided up into smaller rooms for meeting, dining, sleeping, and so forth. Accordingly, Ghazi's tent featured a large outer room where he received his guests before bringing them into his inner chambers, so to speak. This is where I was brought; here also were the gifts which had been heaped upon the amir by those who came to do him honour.

  There were many jewelled swords and knives, and ornamental weapons of various sorts-spears, shields, helmets, bows and arrows-and other items of which the Arab artisans excel in making: chalices, bowls, platters, and cunningly carved boxes of pierced wood inlaid with fine yellow gold and precious stones. As I looked over this haphazard mound of wealth, I recognized certain objects and realized there were also many items of plunder which the Seljuq had taken from the defeated crusaders. Indeed, rolled on its wooden pole, I saw Bohemond's golden banner, and a fine new steel hauberk folded atop a chest, a pair of gauntlets with the image of a hawk's head, a silver gorget, and a long Prankish sword.

  I saw these things and more, and the thought came to me, It is here… the Holy Rood is here! Could it be? My heartbeat quickened. Nothing of value escaped the keen appraising eye of the Arab. I stared at the jumbled trove and knew that it must be true. Hidden somewhere amongst all the gifts and plunder lay the greatest prize in Christendom.

  After a moment the Armenian scribe, who had served as my interpreter the day before, appeared. 'Do you know why you have been brought here?' Katib Sahak asked; his voice was cold and unforgiving.

  'I am hoping the amir has accepted my ransom payment and will now allow me to depart in peace.'

  'That is for the amir to decide.' In bearing and tone, Sahak gave every indication of despising me. 'He wishes to ask you some questions. I urge you to tell the truth at all times. Your life depends on it.'

  'Be assured I will tell the truth.'

  He made a sound in his nose as if he thought such an endeavour unlikely. 'Follow me.'

  Stepping to the inner partition, he pulled back a fold of the cloth, indicating that I should enter. The room was simple and spare; there was no furniture of any kind, save cushions; fine silken rugs had been spread thick on the ground to make a soft floor beneath the feet. The mountain of gifts which filled the outer room encroached upon this room as well, but here the heap was smaller, and the objects more costly.

  The amir sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by four Seljuqs who, by dress and bearing, I took to be noblemen and advisors -the Atabeg of Albistan among them. Amir Ghazi's expression was stern and challenging. His white beard bristled like hog hair on his flat, wrinkled face; he had put off his buff-coloured turban, and his long grey hair was knotted into a hank, which rested on his shoulder. 'God is great!' he said in Arabic.

  Sahak interpreted the amir's words for me, to which I replied, 'Amen!'

  Ghazi nodded, and made a flicking motion with his hand. The Armenian bowed, then turned to me and said, 'His Most Excellent Amir Ghazi has considered your claim. He has discussed this with his counsellors and it is the opinion of the amir that you were fleeing the Armenian stronghold or else you would not have been captured. Is this not so?'

  'Yes, my lord, it is so,' I answered, gazing full at Ghazi.

  'It is the amir's opinion that there are many reasons for a man to flee. The two most common, and therefore most likely reasons-in the Most Excellent Amir's sage opinion-are these: either you have made enemies among the royal family, or you have committed some crime in the royal household. Perhaps the theft of the brooch with which you have attempted to purchase your freedom, yes?'

  'Tell my lord the amir that I am not a thief,' I said, trying to remain calm and unruffled. 'I have stolen nothing. Neither have I made enemies among the royal family.'

  I might have insisted on recognition of my noble rank, but it serves no purpose to allow one's self-importance to erect obstacles at times like this. As Abbot Emlyn says, martyrs are often burned, not for their beliefs, but for their toplofty pride alone.

  Sahak repeated my assertion, and then gave me the amir's terse reply. 'It makes no difference,' he said. 'Amir Ghazi says that you are to remain a captive. You have said your friends escaped. If this is so, those who were with you will send ransom, and then you will be freed. By this he will know the truth, and the matter will be concluded.'

  'If no one comes for me?' I hated asking the question, but I had to know.

  'You will be sold in the slave market in Damascus with the rest of the captives who have no hope of ransom.'

  The amir watched me to see how I would take this news. When I made no outcry or protest, Sahak said, 'Do you understand what I have told you?'

  'Completely,' I answered. 'I am more than grateful for the amir's wide forbearance.'

  The rancorous scribe's eyes narrowed as he tried to determine whether I was mocking him. Satisfied with my sincerity, he relayed my words to Ghazi, who continued, 'By virtue of the fact that you are a captive of war,' the amir said, speaking through Sahak, 'you stand condemned. Yet, it is written: He who desires mercy shall mercy employ. Therefore, I will show mercy to you, least deserving of men.'

  He waited while his words were translated for me, then said, 'You have claimed to be a nobleman and, indeed, I find that you conduct yourself with admirable restraint and courtesy-two of the chief virtues of nobility. Mercy and generosity are two more.'

  I could see that Ghazi, for all his sly practicality, nevertheless imagined himself something of a philosopher.

  'Therefore,' Sahak continued, 'by the immense mercy and generosity of Lord Ghazi you will be accorded the honour and rank of a nobleman in captivity.'

  The pronouncement dismayed me, I will not say otherwise, yet I shouldered the burden of disappointment as manfully as I could. I held my head erect and kept my mouth shut. I tried to preserve my dignity in the circumstance by reminding myself that, at least, by remaining in Ghazi's camp a little while longer, I would be near the Black Rood.

  'All noblemen are to be ransomed in Damascus,' Sahak told me with spiteful glee, 'and, should anyone wish to claim you, the amir has decreed a price of ten thousand dinars for your release.'

  'Please, tell the Excellent and Admirable Amir Ghazi that I am truly overwhelmed by the prodigious magnitude of his mercy and generosity.'
r />   Sahak grimaced. 'Tomorrow we will continue our journey to Damascus. You will travel in the amir's baggage train with the other noble captives. So that you will not offend the Illustrious Atabeg Buri, by arriving empty-handed, the Wise and Benevolent Ghazi will provide you with a gift befitting your rank.'

  When the translator was finished, the amir clapped his hands, and a guard entered from the outer room. Ghazi beckoned him near and put his mouth to his servant's ear. The man rose quickly and left. The amir enjoyed a shrewd smile at my expense and I felt a dread apprehension creep over me as the guard returned bearing a large wooden box, which he placed on the floor between myself and the amir.

  The box itself was one of the ornately carved variety I had noticed in the anteroom; made of fine wood inlaid with gold tracery, it was costly, certainly, but I reckoned the box itself was not the gift the wily amir had in mind.

  'Open it,' commanded Ghazi through his gloating Armenian mouthpiece.

  I knelt down and unfastened the simple hasp. Then, taking the top in both hands, I steeled myself and lifted the hinged lid to reveal a severed human head. One brief glimpse of the long yellow hair and the neat forked beard gave me to know it was none other than the golden head of incautious Prince Bohemond.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Impetuous no more, Prince Bohemond appeared serene and tranquil, his fine features becalmed, if not beatific-a testimony to the embalmer's art, for even in my fleeting encounter with the hasty Count of Antioch, I could tell that serenity was never part of his nature. Certainly, I had never seen him looking more contented -as if in death, his war with the world now over, he had entered a splendour of peace that had eluded him in life.

  The flesh had a waxy texture and a slightly glistening tawny sheen, due to the pitch resin used to preserve the head. Yet, it was lifelike in every other way so that poor Bohemond seemed merely to slumber in the serene tranquility of a golden sunset. Alas, it was a sleep from which there would be no waking, and I might have mourned the life of a brother Christian so brutally cut off-if not for the fact that he had brought this ghastly extremity upon himself.