by Tony Roberts
Two Crusader archers stood at the top of the slope, reloading. More Turks were pushing forward, and the Crusader line was collapsing. Casca staggered to his feet, still clutching his sword. “Get back!” he croaked to the two archers. He swung round. His shield was too far away. Turkish horse archers were riding down the isolated groups of battling Provencal warriors. It was looking bad for Raymond’s army.
Casca made his way to William of Montpelier, still defiantly standing despite a multitude of arrows sticking out of the ground near him and his men, and a thick carpet of men lying up the slope. Another attack by the Muslims was gathering, their numbers swelling on the road. Crusaders were streaming up the hill, most of them wounded, leaving many of their number dead behind them. But the Turks had suffered, too.
Now horns trumpeted and banners came closer. The other Crusader armies, those under Godfrey and Bohemond, were coming to the rescue. The Turks reeled. This was not what they had planned. The heavily armored Christians had resisted their charge. Facing the thousands of Crusaders bearing down on his right flank, Kilich Arslan gave the order to retreat and turned around, leading the remnants of his army from the field. Many never made it. The exultant Crusaders chased them for a mile or so, stopping only to cut the throats of wounded Turks they came across.
Casca sank to his knees, his wound sending waves of nauseating pain through his body. His last thought was at least we won this battle, before he sank into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The gentle, soft hands of Giselle stroked Casca’s damp forehead. “Casca, Casca.”
“Giselle,” he breathed, opening his sticky, swollen eyes. It was dark. He was in his tent, that he could see, and his upper body free of armor and clothing. She must have stripped him to the waist after he had been brought to her.
There was a smell of alcohol and herbs, and the iron smell of blood. His blood. He sucked in his breath. His blood was poison! If she even allowed a drop to accidentally touch her lips…… memories of Metah tortured him for a moment. He was so weak, he must have lost a lot of blood. With consciousness the pain in his shoulder and upper back came back.
“Oh, dear God,” Giselle said, her voice thick and tearful. “Please don’t die!”
“Giselle….” Casca shook his head gently. He knew dying wasn’t an option; that had been denied him by Jesus all those years ago – over a thousand of them. He could feel the Curse working on his wound, slowly closing it and sealing the ruptured blood vessels and arteries. How to explain that? She’d think him a demon, or something. People were like that. Anything good that happened was bad, while anything bad that happened was good. All fucked-up thinking, courtesy of the Church. The terrified population followed their edicts blindly for fear of excommunication.
Suddenly he had a blinding flash of inspiration. Either that or desperation. Maybe they were one and the same. “Giselle – the relic. Syagrius’s finger.”
The woman’s eyes widened, then she plunged off out of sight. Casca was more aware of his surroundings now. He was on his bed, his shoulder and back swathed in a torn shirt. It was blood-soaked, by the looks of it. It must have been a deep cut.
Giselle was back, the reliquary in her hands. Shaking, she fumbled the catch in the lid which opened after a few moments and she brought forth a blackened object wrapped in a cloth. “What-what should I do?” she asked.
“Place it against my wound – gently!” Casca felt odd. Being touched by one of the last true Roman’s finger made his skin tingle. It was a ludicrous scene, but he could think of no other way to pre-empt the miraculous healing he was about to undergo. Using a relic was the perfect solution. There was a brief shard of pain, then she withdrew it and Casca relaxed, slumping deeply into the blankets.
“I-I don’t want you to die, Casca. You mustn’t!”
“Pray, Giselle. Use your faith. Miracles do happen.” Casca sighed, sweat bathing his forehead and chest. People were so blinded by their religion that all common sense was sacrificed. “Have faith in the relic.” Casca lay in his bed, his eyes closed. If this wound healed at the rate his other wounds had, then he’d be up and about within a day. It would certainly be regarded as a miracle, and Giselle would for sure believe the relic was responsible, vindication in her eyes that she did, indeed, have something special in her possession. That would bring in outside attention; the priests and bishops would want a piece of the action, and this would cause some difficulty between the northern Franks and the Provencals. It was important to get the backing of Raymond for the relic. He didn’t want the priests of Godfrey blundering in with the intention of destroying it.
He looked at Giselle. She was kneeling by his bedside, head bowed, the relic once more in its box. She grasped it firmly in her hands, her lips moving in prayer. He smiled cynically. Religion was never a matter of fact; it was a matter of faith. “Giselle,” he said softly.
She looked up at him. “Yes, Casca?”
“You might have to expose the relic’s existence should I recover, for surely it would be a miracle. Others saw my wound when I was brought here, didn’t they?”
“Yes; William of Montpelier and his men did. They told of your valor and bravery, slaughtering hundreds of Turks single-handedly. You’re a famous warrior amongst us, Casca.”
Casca chuckled, and then bit off a moan of pain. “I only killed a handful. The last one got me.”
The woman shook her head. “Too many saw you strike dozens down; you’re being too modest. Even Count Raymond visited us when you were asleep; he wanted to see the man who killed all those Muslims. Everyone expects you to die…” she choked on the last word and began crying.
Casca reached out with his left hand and stroked her hair. “Believe, Giselle. I shall survive. But let me say again, the relic will become known. You must speak to Bishop Adhemar. He’s the Count’s personal friend and the senior priest here. Get his protection for the relic. None of those vandal priests from Godfrey’s army could possibly touch it then.”
The Frankish woman nodded, tears glistening down her cheeks.
Casca felt tired and lay back once more. His body needed healing time and he allowed himself to slip once again into unconsciousness.
When he awoke it was deep in the night. Candles flickered on the table close to his bed and over by the chest they had for their possessions. Giselle was sleeping in her makeshift bed, breathing deeply. Casca threw back the blanket and slid onto his bottom, flexing his arm. It stung and the flesh felt tight, but nowhere near as painful as it had been earlier. He did feel hungry and thirsty, and he was still sweating. It was warm and he got soundlessly to his feet. The blanket was stained and would have to be washed. He hoped all his other bloodstains had been disposed of properly.
The tent flap was pushed aside and he stood outside, taking in the night air. The camp was slumbering, with a few guards pacing on their bored way. The sky was full of stars and he breathed in deeply. He heard a few groans and voices from nearby, and pitied those suffering from their injuries. Plenty of men had been hurt in the battle, and unlike him, they would continue to suffer for some time. He wondered if Giselle would be pressured into using Syagrius’ finger on them. What would they think when that failed to heal them? Ah shit, let them work that one out.
Nicaea loomed in the distance, a dark, threatening shape. What the garrison would do now that their relief force had been driven back was anyone’s guess, but their morale would have been hit badly. Time, perhaps, to offer them an honorable surrender. That way the city would return to imperial control with no loss of honor or damage to the place. He hoped so; the Crusaders were itching to get their hands on the loot inside.
He traced the line of his new injury with a tentative finger. It was a long one; the Turk had done a good job on him. What his armor looked like was anyone’s guess but it probably was ruined. He’d have to get a replacement. In one or two places it still stung badly. Best not to irritate it.
He located a drinking vessel and dippe
d the ladle with it into the liquid. He savored the drink. It was lukewarm but he cared not. The water sank into his gut and began spreading through his system, reviving it. Now that was sorted, what about something to eat? He moved to where a group of men were sleeping opposite in front of their tent. There were the remains of a fire there, contained within a circle of stones. The charred remains of some animal were there and he picked at it experimentally. The flesh came away in his fingers and he chewed on the half-burned goat, for that was what it was.
Licking his fingers dry he returned to the tent. Giselle was still asleep and he slipped quietly into his bed. No point in waking her or the camp by whooping and running round shouting that he had been miraculously cured. No doubt others would do that for him on the morrow. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
When he next opened his eyes it was day. The sun was beating down outside, he could see through the canvas sides of the tent, and the heat of the day was already climbing towards being uncomfortable. He levered himself up and experimentally moved his arm. It was stiff but the pain was almost gone. Giselle came running over, her hands to her face, her eyes wide in astonishment and disbelief. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” she said before she could stop the words. “It IS a miracle!”
Casca sat on the edge of the bed and ruefully looked at the raw red scar that went from his shoulder blade across his back, angling down towards his spine. He’d been chopped well and good. He hoped the bastard that had cut him was burning in hell. Giselle grasped his hands and held them tight, sobbing with relief. “It’s alright, Giselle,” Casca reassured her, kissing her head. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes, laughing. She picked up the reliquary that was resting inside her jewelry box and looked at it with something akin to awe. “It must be the work of God,” she commented, shaking her head.
Casca could have corrected her, stating it was the work of Jesus, but he doubted he would be listened to. He heaved himself up and stretched, somewhat carefully. The scar stung a bit when he extended his arm, so he went a little more carefully. He found his armor and looked at it. The links covering his shoulder had been severed and would need plenty of repair work, so he put it on the bed and dressed, putting on a lightweight shirt and a surcoat of light blue. It was his only spare. He needed another.
“Where are you going?” Giselle asked. Her skin was dark under the eyes. She had been overcome with distress the past half day or so, and she was still tired, even after sleeping a few hours.
“I’m hungry,” Casca said. It was true. Apart from half charred cold goat, he’d eaten nothing and his body craved nourishment, having put in a lot of energy in healing the wound, and he needed to replenish the lost blood.
“I’ll get you some stew going.”
Casca grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll just go outside and soak up the sun. I need to walk – I can’t believe I’m alive.” The last bit was not true, but who would argue?
“Nor can I, but I’m so happy you’re still with me.”
Casca nodded and stepped out into the sun. It was a hot day, and soldiers were sitting or lying about, either tending or having tended their various wounds. A few looked at him with curiosity, then surprise. Casca ignored them – he guessed the next few days would be a little awkward in explaining away his miraculous return from death’s door. He’d been there so many times in the past it was getting tiresome. He’d rather die and be done with it, but the Curse wouldn’t let him, he knew that.
Word soon got round and Raymond himself came, striding purposefully. It was something of note to have the Count come to another rather than have them summoned to his quarters. His collection of aides and advisors crowded behind him, all looking at Casca like some strange beast. “Well, God strike my sight from me if I believed it, but it seems the story is true. A man nearly dead is up and walking amongst us as if nothing happened.”
Casca shrugged. “Giselle performed wonders yesterday. I think the good bishop there needs to speak to her.”
Raymond turned round to look at Adhemar who looked surprised. “Bishop?”
Adhemar stepped a few paces forward. He was a burly man, well into his middle age, with piercing, intelligent eyes. No ignorant fanatic, this, Casca judged. No, this was a clever and dangerous man. “Why me, Baron Stokeham?”
“She – has something that may be of interest to you.”
Adhemar gave Casca a long, thoughtful look before stepping past him and into the tent. Raymond placed his fists on his sides. “So, are you fit for further duties? I understand from William of Montpelier you performed heroics in the battle. You’re quite a famous warrior, you know.”
“I’d rather not be,” Casca said. “I was only doing what I ought. Did we lose many?”
“Too many for comfort,” Raymond conceded, “and many are wounded. But we won and the enemy lost more. Their sultan has retreated many leagues. It isn’t known how far, but he’s nowhere near here.”
“Dorylaeum, I bet. That’s the nearest garrison town in that direction. You’ll have to by-pass it after Nicaea falls.”
Raymond grimaced. “Well, we’ve lost patience with the garrison. There’s going to be a Council of War between us soon, and we’ll plan an attack to take the city. The men are getting fractious.”
Their conversation was curtailed by the reappearance of Adhemar. He looked shocked. “I think you have better come and see this, Count Raymond.”
Raymond looked surprised, then stepped forward. The rest of his entourage followed suit but Adhemar put up a hand. “Sorry, my lords, but this is a delicate matter which should be put to the Count alone. May the good Lord guide us,” he added, looking at Casca in a strange way. “You may as well join us, Baron, considering this directly affects you, too.”
Casca followed Raymond into the tent. He saw Adhemar standing over Giselle’s small table upon which rested the reliquary. “What have you there?” Raymond asked.
Adhemar touched the reliquary reverently. “I believe we have here a truly miraculous object. The girl here tells me that she cured the Baron’s wound with this relic. She has told me that inside this box is the finger of the former Roman governor of Soissons, Syagrius.”
Raymond stared at Adhemar in disbelief. “Have you seen it, Bishop? Have you seen what is inside the box?”
Adhemar shook his head. “That I have not, Count, but I have no reason to disbelieve this child here. She has an innocent and truthful manner and she has sworn to God that she is telling the truth.” He looked at Giselle and smiled. “Would you please open this box and show both myself and the Count the relic?”
Giselle moved to the table and reverently lifted the box up. She opened the lid and both Adhemar and Raymond examined what was revealed. They straightened and looked at one another. Raymond turned to Casca. “Let me see your wound, Baron.”
Casca shrugged off his shirt and showed the healing scar, now nothing more than a long line reddened at the edges.
Adhemar made the sign of the cross and muttered under his breath. Raymond looked baffled. “William of Montpelier says you were near death when you were carried from the field yesterday. I cannot believe my own eyes. What do you think, Baron?”
Casca shrugged, slipping his shirt back on again. “I was unconscious through much of it, my lord. I did witness Giselle here touching me with the relic, but I passed out again soon afterwards.” He steered as truthful a course as he possibly could. “To be truthful, I have received so many wounds in my time and recovered, that I didn’t think I was seriously hurt. I asked Giselle to use the relic in order to ease her worries; she was very concerned I was dying.”
Adhemar clasped his fingers together as if in prayer. Maybe he was. Casca couldn’t tell, nor did he really care. All that mattered was to spin a tale realistic enough to make it sound plausible. Raymond grunted. “I shall speak further to William on this matter. In the meantime, what do you suggest we do with the relic, Bishop?”
Adhemar sucked on his lower lip. “I m
ust confess at being unsure; I have seen many relics in my time, as you are no doubt aware, but this is the first time I have had experience of an actual miracle being caused by one.”
“We have another point to consider,” Casca said. He related the problem with the northern Franks being opposed to Syagrius’ beatification in the past.
“I can understand their attitude,” Adhemar said slowly. “Romans were not seen as friends of the Church.”
“What of Constantine?” Casca said, irked that his people were still damned by priests. Just because they followed the Jewish priests’ wishes in executing Jesus. “Or Theodosius?”
Adhemar regarded Casca intently. “What do you know of them?”
“Roman emperors; Constantine legalized Christianity. Theodosius imposed it empire-wide and banned pagan practices.” Casca had fallen foul of the Edicts of Theodosius way back and had been imprisoned for his pains.
“You study history?” Adhemar was genuinely impressed. “Where did you learn this?”
“Here and there. That’s unimportant. What is important is that we don’t spread the word about this yet. It would take just one zealous fool in Godfrey’s entourage to take action into his own hands and you may lose what could become one of Christianity’s most venerated relics. Giselle’s late husband wished to take it to Jerusalem. I think we should honor his wishes, and that of Giselle here, and take it to the Holy City. It may help in setting up whatever administration you are thinking of when you do get there, and assuming of course, this army is victorious.”
Raymond rested a fist on the table next to the relic. “I haven’t yet thought of that.”
“I bet you haven’t,” Casca replied. “Any of you. When you get there who’s going to rule Jerusalem? How big an area? It’s populated by Muslims, Jews and Christians. Who do you trust? Where will the boundaries extend to? How will you defeat the many enemies you’ll face? They’re not going to let you walk in and take it, you know.”