Pilgrim's War

by Michael Jecks

  He pulled his eyes away from the women and listened to Odo and the knight once more.

  Sir Roger was leaning on a rope. ‘I hope it will not lead to difficulty between you and your brother.’

  ‘I did not come here to see to his hurt feelings, but to win back Jerusalem,’ Odo said. ‘Besides, he will cope. He is not so pious as a man on pilgrimage should be. Sadly, my brother is lecherous – more so than any man I have known.’

  ‘He is a man, when all is said and done,’ Sir Roger said. There was nothing unusual in a man pursuing his natural desires. ‘At least he will be forgiven his crimes if he reaches Jerusalem.’

  ‘That is my fervent wish,’ Odo said. ‘God knows, he has many sins to atone for.’

  On a different ship, Fulk spent his journey sitting with his back to his ship’s hull, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze on his face. After the hellish experience of the tower, seeing so many men slain for no advantage to either side, it was good to be rocked by the waves here. The ship creaked, the ropes holding the sails groaning and cracking as the wind changed, but there was a steadiness to the noises and the calm, unhurried commands from the ship’s master.

  He could still smell the stench of death about the tower. It lingered in his nostrils, no matter that as soon as he could he had dunked his head in the sea and washed his arms of all the blood that caked them. Death was a part of him now. His experiences had marked him for battle and dealing execution. He longed for a sight of Sybille, a chance to speak to her once more, as though that could eradicate the memories of horror. Richalda was still quiet, leaning against Gidie as though he was her grandfather, and Fulk thought he could win a little favour with Sybille, were he to return Richalda to her. It was a good thought. He could imagine Sybille’s joy at being reunited, especially since Fulk had helped to protect the girl through the worst of the fighting.

  Sybille would appreciate his efforts. Perhaps she would consider his protection for the rest of the journey? Even after the last days, that thought brought a smile to his face.

  Constantinople

  Gidie was happy to give up the child to Fulk when they reached the harbour and could disembark at last. Dusk was falling, and he felt old, too old for this life of hardship and toil. He stood on the solid paving of the harbourside for a while, stretching his back and feeling the crackle of the scab breaking where his pate had been broken. It hurt badly, a soreness that was close to nausea when he stood, but he was determined, and he knew what he must do.

  Odo had tried to kill him.

  Gidie had thought it was because Odo saw him with the corpse and assumed Gidie himself had killed her. But as he lay in the tower while the fighting raged all round, he had been struck by the way that Odo had spoken so little, by the way that his face had hardened like a wooden carving, and by the way that he had struck Gidie down when Gidie had been walking away, thinking that Odo knew him to be innocent.

  Now Gidie wondered not whether Odo had struck because he thought Gidie was guilty, but in order to conceal his own crime.

  Odo had murdered Jeanne and tried to kill Gidie in case he should realise.

  Gidie waited until Fulk had left the ship, and then he rose to his feet, his legs wobbling. The whistling noise was still in his ears, but it was abating slightly, and his legs grew stronger as he made his way down the gangplank and began to push through the press to follow Fulk. The harbour was packed with returning pilgrims, soldiers embarking to join others at Civitot, a squadron of cavalry which were skittishly waiting to be walked up a broad gangplank, and the usual mess of sailors and dock workers rolling barrels, coiling ropes, patching nets and eyeing the pilgrims with disdain or contempt.

  Gidie forced his way onwards, thrusting himself through the people like a ship passing through flotsam. As he moved, he kept a close eye on Fulk up ahead. A pair of men approached Fulk, and he had a brief discussion with them. They seemed to want to take Richalda, but Fulk would not allow it. He was determined to carry the child to her mother, and no one would steal that pleasure from him.

  Another man appeared, and this time Fulk bent his head respectfully. It was Peter the Hermit. He motioned to the girl, and reluctantly Fulk allowed her to go with the two men, while he spoke with Peter.

  ‘What does Peter want with Fulk?’ Lothar said. He had joined Gidie and now stood at his side, staring after Fulk.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gidie said. The two men with Richalda were walking away quickly now. ‘You stay here and watch Fulk. I’ll be back soon.’

  He set off after Richalda. She was hard to see with all the people about, but one of the men was tall, and bore a coif of pale linen that was clearly visible as he moved through the crowds. Gidie trailed after them, and as they left the harbour and walked about the walls of the city, passing close by the Golden Gate and on to a mass of tents and pavilions, Gidie saw that they meant the child no harm.

  But then, at a large shelter, with a flag fluttering outside it, which bore a red cross, Gidie saw Odo.

  The man had a grim expression on his face. It looked much like that which he had worn when he had tried to kill Gidie.

  Gidie watched as he took Richalda from the two men. Then he followed Odo to another, smaller tent.

  Lothar waited until Fulk was alone.

  The short figure of the Hermit was easy to miss in the throng of people moving all about, but two of his bodyguards remained near him, and Lothar could easily see them looming over the folk all about. It was only when they turned about, and he saw that they were following Peter, that he stepped forward to find Fulk.

  ‘What did the Hermit want with you?’ he said.

  ‘Lothar? You startled me!’ Fulk looked surprised to see him. ‘Peter was asking how the battle at Civitot was, how many we lost, how the Saracens fought. His men took Richalda to her mother. He insisted that I needed a rest, rather than going to search for Sybille.’

  ‘Perhaps he was right,’ Lothar said.

  ‘I wanted to present Sybille with her daughter,’ Fulk said, staring over the heads of the men nearby as though he thought he might find Sybille here in the crowd. ‘I hoped to see Sybille again.’

  ‘Perhaps the Hermit was right. Surely it is better that Sybille be reunited with her daughter without interruptions from an admirer?’ Lothar said.

  Fulk nodded slowly as he absorbed this, and Lothar felt like a traitor. He glanced over in the direction that the Hermit had gone, and he frowned quickly. Lothar was a warrior. He believed in speaking the truth, and in honesty and integrity. That the Hermit had taken the girl spoke to him of deceit. Peter must know that the two brothers were estranged, first by Odo’s leaving Fulk and the others behind while he took the last ship, and then by his stealing Fulk’s woman to be his wife. Lothar could not imagine a worse betrayal.

  ‘Come, Fulk. Let us find a place to drink a cup or two of wine?’

  ‘Yes,’ Fulk said, but his eyes still roved about, searching for Sybille.

  Sybille was sitting with some sewing in her lap, not that she could concentrate on the needlework. It was not the gathering gloom; her eyes stared sightlessly at the wall of the tent as though she could see through the canvas to the harbour, and thence to the narrow waters and away to Civitot, where she felt sure that her daughter lay dead.

  She had accepted Odo’s proposal of marriage against her better judgement. She had no feelings for Odo. He was not made from the same mould as Fulk. Fulk was exciting in a way that she could not explain, and as kind as an uncle. She had the feeling that he would make a good father to Richalda. But now both were dead. As Peter the Hermit had said, it was unlikely that she would find another man so willing to take her as Odo. Odo was a gift from God. He would look after her and protect her on the way to Jerusalem, and once there, Peter had said, she would find her life infinitely happier, for Jerusalem’s streets flowed with love; it was a Heaven on earth, he had said. She hoped so, but she doubted it.

  When the entrance of the shelter went dark with
shadow, she flinched, but then she saw Odo and gave him a small, bleak smile.

  ‘My love,’ Odo said, ‘I have wonderful news for you: Richalda is alive, look!’

  Sybille felt her heart pound with something like agony. The idea that Richalda could be alive still had been in her mind all these last days, but she dared not submit to their temptations, as if to do so would put a curse on the dream. She gave a low moan almost of grief as her child appeared in the doorway, and held her arms wide. Seeing her, Richalda threw herself forward and into her mother’s embrace. Odo watched with a smile to see the pleasure he had brought to these two.

  ‘How did you survive?’ Sybille asked, holding her daughter’s face between her palms as though disbelieving her own eyes and thinking that the girl was a dream brought to torment her.

  ‘Fulk and Roul took me to the tower,’ Richalda answered brokenly. She pressed forward again and hid her face in her mother’s shoulder. ‘They fought the Saracens and saved us. All of us.’

  ‘Fulk?’ Sybille’s face froze. She looked up at her husband.

  ‘He survived. He must have run to the tower as soon as he might,’ Odo said.

  ‘But you said he was dead! How . . . I wouldn’t have . . . If I had thought—’

  ‘Wife, be still!’ Odo said. ‘We are wedded, and the marriage is consummated. We can do nothing about that. We have made a sacred bond.’

  ‘But Fulk lives!’

  ‘And if we had known that . . .’

  Sybille stared at him. He was pained, she saw, and she realised the hurt that this would give Odo as well as Fulk. Odo knew that of the two brothers she had been most fond of Fulk. Fulk would be terribly hurt, and there must be a dreadful rift between the brothers. All because of her.

  ‘I am so sorry! I should have waited until we knew. I should have realised.’

  ‘Enough! You are bound to me, wife!’ he said, not unkindly.

  ‘Of course. I am sorry,’ Sybille said. She hugged Richalda tightly, but when Odo looked across at her, there was a look she did not recognise in his eyes. If she had described it, she would have said it was a covetous, greedy look.

  He smiled at her, and she returned it, but there was a cold doubt in her heart. She felt ungrateful, for this man had saved her life. He had brought her away from the hell of Civitot. She owed him her life. She should be grateful.

  But she could not lie. When she looked at Odo, she was repelled.

  CHAPTER 37

  Constantinople, Friday 17th October, 1096

  Outside the tent, Gidie was surprised to see Sybille appear. She walked out with Richalda, and made her way down to the bank of the river, where the pilgrims and the poorer city folk would congregate to wash their clothes. Sybille clung tight to her daughter, and crouched at the side of the water, tugging Richalda’s tunic over her head and seating her in the water before washing her face and body, crooning as she did.

  Gidie walked to her. Sybille glanced up as he approached, anxiety in her eyes until she recognised him. ‘Gidie! My friend, I am so glad to see you!’

  ‘And I you, mistress. I am happy that you are well,’ he said with a smile.

  Sybille used the hem of her tunic to wipe her daughter’s face. ‘My Richalda is returned. How could I not be well?’

  ‘Odo has told you of Fulk?’

  ‘Fulk is alive, yes,’ Sybille said. Her voice was quieter.

  ‘It is fortunate we survived.’

  ‘Odo told me that the Saracens came and attacked.’

  ‘Did he?’ Gidie said, and then it burst from him: ‘Did he tell how he knocked me down and left me for dead? It was Fulk who saved my life.’

  ‘Odo did that?’ Sybille whispered, and then Gidie told her all.

  Sybille stood at the water’s edge, staring down at the lapping waves. In her mind she could see Fulk’s face, his mouth smiling but his eyes filled with sadness and hurt, while Odo was beside him, leering. It was impossible not to believe Gidie. His words carried the force of conviction.

  Her legs almost refused to support her. She tottered and almost fell, and it was Richalda who took her hand and steadied her. ‘Mother? Mother, you’re scaring me!’

  ‘Don’t be upset,’ she said, but her words carried no weight. She felt as insubstantial as thistledown blown on the wind. It was a curious sensation, almost dizzying, as if she was already floating, and she wondered if this was what death felt like.

  Gidie had told her he wanted to kill her husband, but she snapped, ‘You want to die? If you harm him, the Hermit will have you executed within the hour!’

  ‘Then what may I do?’ he demanded. ‘The man tried to kill me. You expect me to allow him to get away with that?’ He pulled his dagger from his belt and held it up. ‘I may be a peasant from the countryside, but I know what honour is!’

  She had persuaded him to do nothing hasty and left Richalda with him. As she walked, her strength returned to her, until she had made her way back to the tent just as Odo was leaving it. Now, standing in Odo’s path, his words came back to her. The old tranter had more sense of honour than Odo.

  Eyes blazing, she confronted him. ‘Is it true? You killed Jeanne, and then tried to kill Gidie too, and deserted Fulk? You married me, letting me think that I was in your debt for rescuing me, but all the while you were lying!’

  ‘Wife, who told you all this?’ Odo said. He smiled soothingly and tried to embrace her, but she whirled out of his reach.

  Sybille had been doubtful, but now she studied Odo with a horrified certainty. His manner, his aloofness, were proof. ‘You left my Richalda there: you left her behind on purpose! She is only a child; she could have been killed, but you didn’t care, did you? Why, because you wanted me without any impediment? Or was it to make your brother jealous? To hurt him? Do you think Richalda and I are mere playthings, for you to pick up or discard as you wish?’

  ‘Woman, you are hysterical.’

  ‘I’ve learned my husband is a murderer!’

  ‘Woman, you will be silent,’ Odo said. He didn’t try to move closer, but spoke more quietly. ‘You are my wife, and you cannot accuse me of a crime. You will not bear witness against your own husband. And I will not have you shouting at me in the roadway like this. It is shameful behaviour.’

  ‘I will shout your guilt from the rooftops if I—’

  His fist caught her chin, and she was flung back, falling on her rump in the roadway. Both elbows struck the ground at the same time, and she remained there, stunned, while Odo crouched beside her. To her surprise there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘You think I wanted this? I wanted to protect you, from Fulk! He isn’t a good man, he’s too driven by his passions. Can’t you see that? He lied to me – me! He let me think Jeanne was a good woman, but he lied, tricking me, making me think she was suitable as a wife. When all the time he knew she was married and a . . . and a whore! I have a sacred duty here. I will help guide the armies to Jerusalem, to save the Holy City. That is my duty and my honour. And you must help me. We will not speak of this again, my wife. What is past is past. I have no regrets.’

  ‘You murdered Jeanne,’ Sybille whispered. ‘And tried to kill Gidie.’

  ‘It was all most unfortunate,’ Odo said. He stood again, gazing about him, and then he wiped his eyes and smiled down at Sybille. ‘But it is all resolved now. God is guiding me, you see. He approves, and He will see us safe to Jerusalem. Now, settle yourself, wife. I must go and speak to the Hermit.’

  Sybille refused his proffered hand, and eased herself to her feet. She dusted herself down and gingerly touched the point of her jaw where his fist had caught her, and then felt her elbows. Both were grazed. Odo made as though to embrace her, but she averted her face and stepped back, away from his encircling arms. He scowled, lifted his chin haughtily and made his way to Peter’s pavilion while she made her way back to the river where she had left Richalda. There were scores of children playing in the water here, giving shrill cries as they splashed and cavorted, the dropl
ets of water catching the dying sun with sparkles and flashes.

  ‘Did you speak to him?’ Gidie said.

  ‘Yes,’ Sybille said, and looked about her, suddenly lost as the enormity and horror of her position struck her. Her eyes felt as though they were about to well, but no tears came. The horror was too great for weeping. She reached for Richalda and hugged her close. ‘Dear Heaven! What will become of us?’

  After leaving Sybille and her daughter with Guillemette, Gidie went in search of Fulk, finding him with Lothar at a small tavern near the harbour. He took his seat on a low wall and accepted a cup of watered wine, draining it with gratitude. The others were in a sombre mood.

  He stared from Fulk to Lothar, unsure how to tell Fulk what he knew. Fulk was unaware of Odo’s murder of Jeanne, and Gidie did not know how he would react on being told that his brother had killed the woman before taking Sybille. Glancing at Lothar, he held out his cup to be refilled, and then held it in two hands like a priest preparing for Mass while he tried to find the words to tell Fulk.

  Lothar snorted and spat. ‘There are more armies on their way here. Men from all over Europe are flocking to God’s banner.’

  ‘Is that what Peter has said?’

  Fulk nodded. ‘Yes. He said that there would be a need for men to go and scout the land from Civitot to Nicaea. We are to leave in a few days, when we are prepared.’

  ‘Will your brother come with us?’

  Fulk looked up. ‘I don’t know. Peter may want him here – he finds Odo useful, I think.’

  Gidie stared into the cup as though he might find an answer there. ‘Master Fulk, when I was knocked down at Civitot, you chose to believe that I was struck by a Saracen. But I was not.’

  Fulk peered at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I said nothing because I could scarce believe it myself, but it was your brother who struck me down.’

  ‘No, you are mistaken, Gidie,’ Fulk said with a chuckle. ‘Why should Odo do a thing like that?’

  ‘At first I thought it was because I had found Jeanne at the water’s edge. Perhaps Odo reasoned that I must have killed her, I thought. But the expression in his eyes was not rage and vengefulness. It was more like fear, and a cold determination.’