‘Hold!’ Lothar said, raising a hand. This was too much for him to absorb. That Odo could have taken Fulk’s wife was dreadful, but to do so after murdering Jeanne as well . . . that was incomprehensible. ‘You say that he killed his own woman? Do you know what you are saying?’
‘He killed Jeanne, and sought to remove the one man who could have witnessed the death – me. He knew I would guess he had killed—’
Fulk shook his head violently. ‘No! You are wrong, my friend! Odo? He loved her. When I left him at the harbour, he was going to fetch her, to bring her here to safety, just as I was going to seek Sybille.’
‘He saw me and tried to ride me down. I reasoned with him, and I thought I had got through to him, but then, when I turned away, he attacked me. It was he who did this,’ he said, touching his scalp.
‘You are confused, man! It was the blow to your head. Odo wouldn’t do a thing like that – not attacking another pilgrim like you for no reason, nor killing Jeanne.’
‘A man can change. Especially after the bloodshed we have seen on our way here.’
‘Odo is a pious man. He wouldn’t attack you. He couldn’t.’
‘You trust him?’
Fulk nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Would you still trust him if he had taken Sybille from you? If he had married her?’
Fulk grinned quickly, but then, as he took in Gidie’s serious expression, a terrible blankness came over him. He shook his head. ‘No – don’t even jest about such a thing. He couldn’t have . . .’
Lothar felt Fulk’s eyes on him and looked down and away, ashamed to see Fulk’s distress.
‘It is true,’ Gidie said. ‘I am sorry.’
Fulk climbed to his feet, stumbled, then frowned. It was impossible! Gidie must be lying! He turned and launched himself at Gidie, his hands bunched into fists, pulling back his right to beat Gidie until he admitted it was all untrue, that it was made up. ‘You will take that back! Odo would not steal my woman! He couldn’t!’
Lothar caught his fist in the air. ‘Fulk! Why would Gidie lie to you? I did not have the words to tell you that Odo had taken your woman, but it is true. He has married her. I swear, I was going to speak, but I was searching for the moment. As for his attack on Gidie . . . I had not heard this before.’
Fulk shook his head, tore his fist from Lothar’s grasp, let go of Gidie’s shirt and stared about him, his eyes wild. If Odo had done that, and then took ship from Civitot, it meant he had deserted Fulk there; it meant he deliberately left Fulk to die. His own brother!
Gidie was speaking. ‘I’m truly sorry, Fulk, but it’s true. I heard him. Odo married your woman as soon as he got her back here. While we were fighting for our lives, he took her as his wife. I heard them.’
‘No, no,’ Fulk said. Gidie’s words sounded thick and almost incomprehensible. ‘He couldn’t do that to me. She would never have agreed.’
‘They thought you were dead,’ Gidie said. ‘But that doesn’t explain why he tried to kill me first.’
‘No, you must be wrong!’
‘And now we are to be sent back, you say? Perhaps Odo has spoken to Peter and persuaded him to send us all so that we can die in the lands over the sea, just as King David sent Uriah the Hittite to be slain so he could take the man’s wife. Perhaps your brother will wear a penitent’s garb if you die.’
Fulk suddenly clenched his fist and lifted it. Lothar grabbed it again, but Fulk was not attempting to punch Gidie. He knew now that Gidie was speaking the truth.
‘Enough!’ Lothar said again, but Fulk had already snatched his hand back, and set off at a run towards the pilgrim camp.
Heinnie and Father Albrecht were directed to a large pavilion, and there they found the Hermit and many of the leaders of the pilgrims. There were several priests sweltering in their heavy, religious garb, and men-at-arms and knights clad in light tunics against the heat.
Born in the Rhineland, Heinnie found the humidity oppressive here at the coast. It was good that as the sun dropped, the temperature fell with it, but it was still appallingly hot. The moon’s reflection glittered and twinkled, offering the balm of cooling waters, but few of the pilgrims were of a frivolous enough bent to go and bathe. Heinnie determined to go and avail himself of the water at the first opportunity.
‘You are very welcome,’ Peter the Hermit said after Albrecht and Heinnie had been introduced. They exchanged the kiss of peace, and Heinnie stood back to allow Albrecht to speak directly to the Hermit.
While they spoke of the army of Hugh de Vermandois and the other men who would soon arrive, Heinnie kept his eyes on the ground at his feet. He could tell she was still near, and if he were to turn, he knew that he would see the column of smoke, roughly woman-shaped, with a dark, cowled face. Only he could see her, hear her footsteps; only he was aware of her presence, but he felt as if she was as plain as a live woman. He knew she was invisible to all but him, but the fact only served to increase his sense of isolation. She was his personal guilt, a symbol of his offence.
Albrecht had tried to ease his loneliness, but although the priest was knowledgeable and worldly wise, early on Heinnie had decided to keep his secret. The priest might well support him, but other soldiers would not.
He stared out over the sea. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, lay Jerusalem and his salvation.
Then a wild man appeared, and he was startled from his reverie.
Fulk ran in a fog of confusion. He wanted to see his brother; he wanted to demand the truth.
Anger and resentment at the injustice of Odo’s behaviour swarmed in his head like flies about a corpse: every explanation he could conceive was smothered by suspicion and jealousy. Sybille was his woman. How could his brother have stolen her from him?
He passed the great gates of marble, and continued on over the sandy soil towards the pilgrim camp. Silken flags showed where the camp’s commanders abode, their soft, fine fabrics snapping and fluttering in the breeze from the sea. Fulk did not notice their gleaming material. All he knew was that his brother must be there.
The pavilion was a tall structure with space for twenty men beneath it. Fulk saw Odo at the rear, standing with Peter the Hermit looking over the shoulder of a clerk at a wooden table while he laboriously wrote on a long scroll. There was another priest nearby, and a pilgrim with a scarred face whom he didn’t recognise.
‘Odo!’
Fulk could not hide the raw pain in his voice. He wanted to speak, to beg for an explanation, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead he held his hands out like a supplicant.
‘Brother!’ Odo said.
‘Odo, I . . . Tell me it’s not true! You haven’t taken Sybille and—’
‘I married her; I had to, to protect her,’ Odo said, and gave a thin smile.
Fulk felt his smile like a bolt from the sky. In it he saw the truth of all Gidie had said. At first he felt a numbness, like a man who has been struck on the head whose legs begin to wobble before he collapses. Then he felt rage thunder through his veins. There was a mist of blood between him and Odo, and he grabbed his dagger almost without realising, moving forward and making to jump at his brother, but before he could, the pilgrim gripped his wrist and held him. He struggled and fought, and tried to punch the man’s face, but the strange priest took hold of his arm. Fulk shook him off and, swinging a fist, he felt it connect with a man’s face, but then a blow struck his head and he toppled to his knees and fell into an abyss.
Gidie hurried in the wake of Fulk, and now, as Fulk collapsed, he and Lothar reached the group.
‘What, will you kill him, like you tried to murder me?’ Gidie shouted at Odo. He set his hand to his knife, but as he did, he was grabbed by bodyguards to the Hermit, and forced at spear-point to stand still. Lothar found his way blocked by three guards, each of whom eyed him with the suspicion of farm dog watching a fox.
‘Leave him alone!’ Gidie cried out as a man kicked Fulk in the upper body. A spear-butt slammed into his belly.
‘Shut up!’
Gidie bent over, retching, while Lothar called to Peter and Odo, ‘Masters! We are friends to Fulk. Let us take him back to our camp, and we shall ensure that he is kept safe until we leave this city and continue on our pilgrimage.’
Peter turned and frowned at Lothar as though trying to place his face. ‘He is mad, you understand? How will you ensure that my friend Odo is secure from his violence?’
Lothar looked at Odo. ‘He is Odo’s brother. This is a madness caused by his grief. I am sure that Odo would not want his own brother’s blood on his hands?’
‘It would scarcely be Odo’s fault if his brother were executed for a violent attack on him.’
‘But Odo would feel the blood on his hands all his life,’ Lothar said. ‘Odo would carry that on his soul for the rest of his days.’
Peter glanced sadly at Odo. ‘It is not only Odo who would feel the sorrow. But I have to weigh up the danger to the other pilgrims, were we to lose Odo to a madman’s attack. I cannot risk that.’
‘At least hold him. This madness will pass.’
‘No. I shall inform the Emperor and ask him to deal with the fellow,’ Peter said. He held out his hands wide, as though an invisible cross had them gripped, shook his head mournfully, and said, ‘Fulk, I shall pray for you. God forgive you!’
That was when the men gripping Lothar’s arms pulled him away. Gidie was trying to speak, but he managed only a gasping croak before a fist struck him in the mouth and he was still.
Peter the Hermit stood at Odo’s side as guards gathered up Fulk and bound his hands. ‘My son, I am so sorry to see this!’ he said, rubbing his hands with distress. ‘That your own brother should draw a knife against you! It is terrible. Terrible!’
‘He is your brother?’ Heinnie said.
‘He cannot cope with the thought that I married my wife,’ Odo said calmly. ‘He wanted her for himself.’
‘Oh,’ Heinnie said. He glanced at Fulk. Even now, unconscious, Fulk bore a look of despair. Heinnie felt a quick sympathy for him. He had lost Lothar and now knew how wrong his actions had been; this fellow had lost his brother. They were both alone, and both because of a woman.
‘But for a brother to lift his hand against his brother, while we are on a holy pilgrimage!’ Peter said. ‘That is unforgivable.’
‘It is sad,’ Odo said. He looked down at Fulk, and he did feel a pang. They were brothers, and he felt a lingering affection, but it was not strong enough to erase the pain Fulk’s duplicity had instilled. He hardened his heart. Fulk had betrayed him. He deserved his punishment.
‘He must be deeply offended. You should not have married your wife so swiftly,’ Peter said. He began washing his hands – Odo thought he looked fretful, like Pilate making his decision. ‘I should have urged more caution.’
‘I married her to protect her. He should accustom himself to the fact. It is a judgement on his past life.’
Fulk heard their voices as he groggily came to consciousness once more. He gazed about him, blearily at first, but then the last minutes returned to him and he tried to climb to his feet. A man placed his boot on Fulk’s back and pressed him down once more as Peter the Hermit eyed him with sadness.
‘My son, you must forgive your brother. He behaved with the best of intentions, I assure you.’
Fulk burst out, ‘He took my woman as his wife, and he—’
A boot struck his flank and Fulk subsided, pain reaching out like a star with points of poison to stab his armpit, hip and spine. As more boots kicked at him, he felt a rib crack, and curled into a ball to protect his head.
He would have continued. He would have told Peter that Odo had murdered Jeanne, that he tried to kill Gidie, that he betrayed those left at Civitot and deserted them, but as he looked up into Peter’s anxious eyes he knew it was pointless. The Hermit would brook no further dispute: he was convinced of Odo’s honour. If Fulk were to accuse his brother and Peter declared Odo innocent, under the law, Fulk must pay the penalty of the false accuser: he would be executed.
‘This is God’s judgement of you, Fulk,’ Peter said sadly. ‘You must learn to accept His grace and accept your fate at His hands.’
Hands grabbed Fulk beneath the armpits, and he felt himself lifted. When he glanced back, he saw that Odo had taken his sword and stood now staring after him as he was half-carried, half-dragged from the pavilion and along the roadway, the stones grazing his knees. As he heard the noise of the sea grow louder, and realised that he was being taken towards the harbour, a fresh blow struck his head and he passed into a blessed unconsciousness, far from his brother, his worries and all alarms.
Gidie came to with a cool cloth on his brow. Looking up he found himself peering into Guillemette’s eyes. She smiled down at him, then lifted one eyebrow and shook her head slowly. ‘You poor fool.’
‘I wanted to stop him. I tried.’
‘I know. Lothar told me. You should not have told Fulk what had happened, though. It was too soon.’
‘He had to know; he had to know what sort of man his brother has become, what he did to—’
‘What Odo did to you and to Jeanne, yes. I understand,’ she said.
‘You don’t understand!’ he said savagely. ‘You can’t! He tried to murder me!’
‘You think I don’t understand?’ she said, and there was a cold, fierce tone in her voice. ‘Jeanne was my friend, Gidie. I walked all the way here with her, saving her from her husband, and just when she needed me and my help, I wasn’t there to save her! She died because I left her!’ The hand on his brow shivered with passion. ‘I failed her.’
‘And I will not fail to avenge her. I have to – not just because of what he did to me. He is mad, and there’s no telling what he might not do while in charge of the pilgrims under Peter.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re in no state to threaten him. Not with your head in this state.’
‘Then when I am recovered. I cannot accuse him. Peter will listen to no criticism of his favourite adviser; that would only result in me getting thrown into gaol alongside Fulk.’
‘There must be someone you could tell,’ she wondered.
‘Who stands equal to Peter the Hermit? If he rejects an accusation, that is an end to it. I could not even speak to the Emperor. Only Peter and Odo seem to have the Emperor’s ear.’
She was silent for a moment. Then, ‘What do you think will happen to Fulk?’
‘Peter said that they will let the Emperor decide.’
‘Decide what?’
‘Whether he lives or dies. And Odo said nothing to protect him.’
She squeezed out a fresh cloth and replaced it on his brow. ‘At least wait until your head is better,’ she said. ‘You are in no condition to avenge anyone just now.’
He nodded and closed his eyes, but he was determined that he would take the first opportunity to kill Odo.
CHAPTER 38
Constantinople, Friday 17th October, 1096
Fulk came to slowly.
He was in a dark, cool, dank chamber that stank of rats and piss. His hands were bound, and a chain ran from his wrists to a ring set in the wall. He lifted his wrists to his mouth and tried to ease the cords, but he failed. The hemp was chafing both wrists, and the weight of the chain made movement painful as the fibres irritated his sore flesh. He rolled over to kneel, keeping his hands on the ground to stop the irritation as far as was possible, and studied his surroundings. There were three walls of stone and a small entrance in the fourth that held a low doorway that was blocked by a gate of steel rods set in a frame. It looked immovable, but with the chain Fulk could not reach it in any case.
Rolling again, he sat with his back to the wall and rested his hands in his lap, wincing as the rope moved about his wrists again. Blood was trickling slowly from his left, and it took an effort of will not to wipe it away. Every movement was painful. Better by far to remain still and let the blood trickle until it dried.
Occasionally a breeze waft
ed in and circulated about the cell. When it did, he snuffed it like a dog scenting prey. He could smell the sea, a salty tang, the odour of rancid fish and entrails, and he wished he were outside again, free. But that would not happen. Peter and his men had contained him here, and that must mean that he was to be held and punished. He had spoken of Sybille, and he had gone to Odo with rage and hatred in his heart. At the least he could expect to be flogged.
He barely cared. Sybille was lost to him. Without her, life lost all savour. The idea of continuing to Jerusalem had lost any attraction. He had nothing to offer to that great project. Where he had been keen to fight the enemies of Christ, now he was merely weary. Whatever the punishment Peter the Hermit saw fit to impose, he would endure it. And then, when all was done, he would set his face to the west once more. He would return to his homeland, to Sens, and he would put aside all thoughts of Sybille. Odo was dead to him. They were no longer brothers. He would go home and set up his own smithy somehow, forget about the pilgrimage. If God could do this to him, He did not want Fulk to make the journey.
Drawing up his legs, Fulk set his brow upon his knees, screwing his eyes tight shut against the urge to weep.
That evening a bowl of rice and a cup of water were brought to him by the gaoler, a man who was already past his thirtieth year, and who was clad in better clothes than Fulk would have expected on a merchant at home. He assumed the man acquired the clothes of those executed from his cells.
The thought made him wonder where his sword was. Odo had picked it up, but he hoped Odo did not mean to keep it. Somehow he doubted he would ever see his weapon again.
He put the sword from his mind. It was the least of his concerns.
Constantinople, Saturday 18th October
Guillemette and Mathena were kneeling at their small cookpot. It hung over a little fire and the smell of pottage was enticing. Esperte was sitting under the lip of their shelter, which was little more than a cloak slung between four sticks, while Gidie, his head bound with a dirty strip of linen wound about his skull like a cap, stood guard nearby. He glanced over and ducked his head when he saw Sybille approach, leading Richalda by the hand. She gratefully sank to the floor when invited.
Pilgrim's War Page 41