East of Ashes

by Gideon Nieuwoudt

  "And then a friend of mine - who was a priest at the cathedral - told me that my father had heard the confession of her murderer the morning after the murder."

  Lamech's face became hardened, drained of all emotion. Othniel held his breath, fearful for the words to follow next.

  "I confronted him about it, insisting he tell me what he had said. At first he didn't want to, but he finally confirmed that he had told my father what he had done. This was before I had heard about it, so my father had already known."

  Othniel was shocked to see all emotion gradually leaving Lamech's face as he continued in a steely voice.

  "My father wouldn't look me in the eye, so I knew there was more. I began losing control. I could literally feel it slip away. I threatened my father - grabbed him by the throat and even pulled my sword - if he didn't tell me what had happened. Finally he admitted his part in all of it."

  Othniel closed his eyes, guessing what came next. In his mind's eye he could see the picture clearly: a young man holding his father by the throat with his one hand, his other holding a sword threateningly.

  When Othniel opened his eyes, he found Lamech watching him. But where his face was emotionless a moment ago, now it was flooded with grief. Lamech looked down again.

  "The cathedral had desperately needed funds," he continued, "and my wife's murderer had promised to contribute generously if my father would speak absolution over him. I like to think that it took some convincing, but in the end my father agreed."

  "It wasn't the first time something like that had happened in the church - you hear things over the years. But still, I couldn't believe it," Lamech said, shaking his head. "Even as he had said it, my mind had rebelled at the words, unable to believe that my own father would absolve the man who took away the woman I loved more than life itself."

  Lamech looked at Othniel again, his eyes pleading.

  "When the truth had finally hit, I couldn't stay my hand - didn't want to. I plunged my sword into him - again and again and again... until he was hanging limp, my hand the only thing holding him up."

  "I knew exactly what I had done - my mind was crystal clear at the time, my rage extinguishing any remorse I might have felt. I allowed him to drop to the floor, removed my blood-splattered outer cloak, and wiped my sword clean on it. I rolled up my cloak into a bundle, tucked it under my arm and headed straight for the stables. I had to get away quickly, before they discovered his body. So I left and headed to Avignon where I changed my name and tried to create a new life as a knight for hire."

  "But your grief and anger followed you," Othniel said knowingly.

  "Yes...and no matter what I did, it wouldn't wash away what I had done. Until I was so consumed by it that I walked around with a constant thunder cloud enveloping me."

  And then I met Leala, he thought to himself. And for a brief moment he had dared to hope again that light might dawn on the darkness of his life again. And then he almost destroyed it before it had a chance to take root.

  He would forever be grateful that his hand was stayed that night. He turned to Othniel: "God may be loving and He may have given His son for us so that we can be reconciled to Him, but it doesn't include me. I am cursed because of what I have done."

  "And you think my acts are less worthy of damnation?" Othniel asked. "I've been a soldier all my life; I've killed countless men. Am I more deserving of God's mercy? Not at all!"

  "In fact, scripture tells us that no one is; that we've all sinned and deserve death. But it's exactly because God loves us that He did something about that. Because we couldn't do it ourselves, He did all of it. Jesus came to die, to pay the price to fulfil the righteous requirements of God's law, so that we might live through grace, no matter what we did."

  "Who are we to say no to that? How can we look into the face of such mercy and throw it back at God? When I came face to face with that choice, I couldn't help but take the offered gift. To do otherwise seemed foolish to me."

  Lamech's pride was angered by Othniel's straight words, but he also knew his friend spoke that way because he cared. But he just couldn't bring himself to do what his friend wanted.

  "Thank you for listening - and for your encouragement," he said and got up to go to his tent as if by walking away he could sweep away Othniel's words as though they were written in sand.

  He hesitated for a moment, and then added: "I will think about what you said. Maybe one day I will come to the same conclusion," he conceded.

  As Lamech left the campfire, Othniel was saddened that Lamech hadn't used the opportunity to make right with his Maker, but he also knew that the seeds were planted and that God would take in the harvest when the time was right.

  Forgive him for his pride Lord, he prayed. He doesn't see that it is blinding him to Your gift of mercy. Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see. Keep knocking at the door of his heart until he opens the door to You. Thank You for this opportunity I had to minister to him. Continue to use me as You see fit.

  With that prayer on his lips, Othniel lay down on his side and fell asleep next to the fire - its last remaining flames flickering lazily, fingers stretching out heavenwards.

  CHAPTER 11

  --- Antioch, 31 May 1098 ---

  --- Bohemond ---

  Bohemond was standing at the entrance to the council tent, getting some fresh air after hours of deliberations with the other princes. They were still at it, deciding on a strategy to finally conquer Antioch.

  The problem with not having a single commander was that each prince was carefully weighing each option to see how it would benefit them. It had been this way since the start of the Crusade and he was no different, of course. But among the princes, he knew he was the best military commander.

  This was both a blessing and a curse to Bohemond: on the one hand the others tended to defer to his opinion on military matters more often than not, but they did so grudgingly. He often found himself being banded up against on other matters. It was irritating but he was determined not to let their pettiness get to him.

  Bohemond shook his head slightly as he stared at the La Mahomerie stronghold the Crusaders had erected in the distance. On the surface he seemed pensive, but his ears were acutely tuned to the conversation behind him.

  He knew exactly how to conquer Antioch, but he had been waiting for the right moment to reveal his master stroke. He had worked endlessly to get everything lined up so that when he unveiled it, action could be taken almost immediately.

  Now, after months of going nowhere, it seemed that the princes would finally be ready to give him what he wanted in turn for a strategy that would bring an end to the siege.

  Looking up at the majestic walls of the city, he knew there was nothing else he wanted more. It would be a high price for them but in the end they would pay it. Even if one of the other princes, Raymond of Toulouse, also had his heart set on the same prize.

  His eyes still locked on the walls, he finally raised his voice over the others: "I have a different way."

  His words immediately silenced the others. Savouring their attention, Bohemond took his time before turning around and walking back to the map table.

  "The only way over the walls is through the gates," he continued, smiling as irritation flashed on their faces at his cryptic words. He knew they were struggling not to ask the obvious question and was disappointed when they didn't.

  "We've tried both breaking down the gates and getting over the walls, but to no avail," he continued. "The reason for our failure is blatantly obvious: until now we haven't had any help."

  Raymond of Toulouse finally took his bait and blurted out: "We've tried getting spies into the city, but their commander is particularly good at sniffing them out!"

  Bohemond hid his pleasure carefully and answered: "True. That's why we need someone who has been living in Antioch long before we arrived."

  The look of surprise, mixed with hope and envy on their faces was particularly pleasant to behold. He knew that all of them wo
uld have thought of something like this before and would have tried setting up such a solution, but up to now none of them had been successful.

  They all knew what he desired, and that he wouldn't have mentioned this solution if he hadn't already succeeded in finding someone inside the city who was willing to commit treason.

  Godfrey of Bouillon, one of the most capable princes among them and the only one Bohemond really respected, spoke softly: "We're listening."

  "It's simple really," Bohemond shrugged, "I have a contact inside the city that is willing to help us get a few men onto the wall. They could then kill the guards and open one of the gates to the rest of us."

  "And the price?" Godfrey asked.

  Bohemond smiled. Godfrey had always been one to cut right to the heart of matters.

  "Not much: just that his life - and that of his wife and children - be spared," Bohemond answered innocently.

  Godfrey just smiled: "You know that's not what I meant."

  "Ah, yes. My price is simple too," Bohemond smiled, meeting Godfrey's gaze. "I want Antioch."

  It was actually a relief to finally voice what he had wanted all along. The others looked slightly pleased with themselves for having guessed correctly. That one's free boys, Bohemond thought.

  And then his relief was dashed to pieces when the princes looked at each other, communicating without saying a word. Bohemond immediately realised he had badly underestimated how deeply their resentment ran.

  He was careful not to show any emotion, but inside he raged at his own miscalculation.

  Raymond was their spokesman, who drove the knife deep as he spoke with unbridled enjoyment: "That is too high a price."

  Bohemond only glared at him.

  "Antioch is of vital strategic importance to the Crusade and should be governed by the council of princes," Raymond continued, "If you are not willing to help without exacting such a price, we will find another avenue to secure this city."

  Bohemond was tempted to punch Raymond in his pompous face, but instead he forced himself to turn around and leave the council tent in silence. He was livid at their short-sightedness, but more so with how bad his timing had been.

  The other princes would now spare no resource to discover the identity of his contact.

  As he walked to his own tent, he was desperately thinking of a way to force their hand. Little did he know that at that very moment, a messenger was racing towards them with news that would give him exactly what he had wanted.

  -------

  --- Antioch, 3 June 1098 ---

  Lamech had woken early that morning. The moment he opened his eyes, he knew the day would be pivotal.

  For a long time he remained in bed, listening to the silence before dawn. When he eventually got up, he strapped on his armour, prepared some breakfast and ate in silence as the camp slowly awoke.

  It didn't take long before Othniel and the others in their group began emerging from their tents, all dressed in their armour too. After preparing their breakfast, they joined Lamech around the campfire, eating quietly.

  Othniel broke the silence: "The princes finally accepted Bohemond's offer last night." He had already filled them in on what had transpired a few days earlier in the council tent, one of his contacts having overheard the whole exchange.

  Since then other news had sent a shockwave through the Crusader camp. A scout had returned just a day after the princes rejected Bohemond's plan, bearing tidings of a massive Caracen army marching towards the besieged city.

  Time had finally run out.

  "So here we are, all dressed up," Lamech commented dryly. The others merely smiled at his words.

  "We won't have to wait much longer," Othniel replied. "They'll issue orders soon."

  "Do we have to wait for that?" Lamech asked. "Can't we volunteer again?"

  The others grinned.

  "Quite right. Why wait?" Othniel answered.

  At his words the others quickly gulped down their breakfast and together they all set off to Bohemond's part of the camp. If there was going to be any action taking place today, he would no doubt be smack in the middle of it.

  -------

  On the dusty road between St Simeon and Antioch, a horse was galloping at full blast. Its rider was huddled close to the horse's back, desperately trying to minimise the wind resistance, helping the horse gain more speed, and reducing his size as a target for the Caracen archers who were pursuing him on horseback.

  Why me! His thoughts screamed for the hundredth time. He was nobody, just a simple messenger with a bag of mail for the Crusaders. But his pursuers were chasing him down with single-minded ruthlessness.

  The only thing he could think of was that the Caracens were hoping to glean some intelligence from the mail. In which case he’ll probably have to protect it, he thought in panic.

  A sharp pain exploded in his ear. He caught a glimpse of an arrow as it slammed into the side of the road.

  That was way too close, he grimaced through the pain.

  About a hundred metres further on the road made a turn to the left. On the turn, a huge boulder obscured the view of the rest of the road. That's the place, he thought, as another arrow narrowly missed his shoulder.

  Don't stand up, he ordered himself, his hand grasping the bag tightly.

  The moment he rounded the bend and was briefly out of sight, he flung the bag as hard as he could to the side and watched as it landed in a puff of dust behind the boulder. Anyone not looking for it won't see it lying there amid the rocks and bushes, he thought.

  Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the road, feeling the horse gain speed thanks to its lighter load. See if you can catch me now you heathens, he thought angrily and spurred his horse on even more, driving it to the limit.

  -------

  Whatever they might have thought before, Lamech realised the moment he saw Bohemond that it would be no easy task capturing Antioch, despite having an inside man.

  Bohemond was standing at the edge of the camp, as close as he could get to the city walls without being hit by an archer or a catapult.

  He was staring at the city walls. His eyes seemed to be trained on one specific place, though from Lamech's position it was unclear what it was. A number of soldiers were dotting the wall - maybe he was looking at them?

  Whatever it was, it had Bohemond's undivided attention.

  From where Lamech and his friends were getting their marching orders from one of Bohemond's adjutants, he could see the Crusader prince was worried by the slightly forward hunch of his shoulders.

  For all the man's military brilliance, it was still a massively dangerous undertaking that they were about to embark on and their commander was clearly feeling the pressure.

  "We'll attack just before dawn," the adjutant told them. Lamech was only half listening. Othniel, who was standing next to him, could fill him in later.

  "Our army will pack up camp and march tonight, tricking the Caracens into believing we've given up. In the middle of the night, we'll turn around and march back quietly, taking in our predetermined positions in front of the walls. Just before dawn our man inside will lower a rope over the wall. We'll attach a ladder to this rope and he'll pull it up. A few men will then climb up the wall, secure the tower on that part of the wall and open the gate for the rest of us."

  The adjutant then turned and looked at Lamech and Othniel. "Bohemond specifically asked for the two of you to be part of that team," he concluded.

  That got Lamech's attention. He looked at the soldier questioningly.

  "You must have made a good impression at Harim," the adjutant shrugged.

  "Fine," Lamech answered, but it was everything but. He might not have valued his life much a year ago, but in these last few months a desire to live had been kindled in his inner being and the small flame was getting stronger with each passing week.

  It was strange that in the midst of so much death, he had begun to value life again. The mere realisation of this brought hope wi
th it. He felt hopeful that life might have meaning after all and desired to spend the remainder of his days looking for it.

  But as he and Othniel walked back to their team to begin their preparation for the evening's attack, he was plagued by a very dark thought.

  What if he didn't survive the night?

  -------

  The messenger arrived at the Crusader camp - wounded, but alive. An arrow had lodged itself in his thigh and another had cut deeply into his arm, but he was in much better condition than he had any right to, considering what he had faced.