by Tony Roberts
“You know a lot for a mere Baron from England,” Adhemar said.
“I read. I study. To rule one must first learn.” He smiled to himself at that; Shiu Lao Tze, his long-dead Chinese friend, would approve of what he’d just said.
Adhemar glanced at Raymond. The Count smiled cynically. To the Church an educated man was dangerous. “I agree with the Baron,” Adhemar said. “It is best to remain silent for the moment.” He looked at Giselle. “My child, I ask you to keep this safely hidden and out of sight. You will remain with the Baron here under his protection.” He then looked at Raymond. “You should tell your men to stay clear of this tent but to keep a watch out for anyone else who may begin to show an undue interest in it. As senior cleric here I assume responsibility for the safe conduct of this child and the box to Jerusalem. Nobody is to touch it except her, or myself, on pain of excommunication.”
Raymond nodded curtly. “As you wish. I for myself am not entirely happy about all this; too many unanswered questions, but I’m pleased it is in my army rather than that braggart Bohemond and his uncouth Sicilians. It may bring us prestige in the future,” he added, before leaving, flinging the flap aside and vanishing from view.
Casca and Adhemar locked eyes for a moment. “I wish to give this child my blessing, Baron,” the bishop said.
“Very well,” Casca said. “I’ve got someone to see anyway. I’ll be back, Giselle.” He left, blinking in the fierce sunlight. He caught Raymond looking at him once while addressing his immediate subordinates close to the tent before loping off towards the imperial encampment, attached to the edge of Raymond’s. He needed to see Butumites again.
The engineer was sat sketching the walls and towers of Nicaea close to the lakeside and Casca stood over him, admiring the neat lines drawn by the Greek.
“That’s very good,” Casca admitted.
Butumites looked up and smiled, slightly abashed. “One of the skills one needs to be an engineering officer,” he admitted. “If you can’t draw what you’re looking to build, nobody knows how to put it all together. When you’re working with people who can’t read or speak Greek, a drawing or sketch is as good as anything else. So,” he put down the parchment and covered it with a cloth to protect it, then stood up. “You wished to see me? I heard you were dead.”
Casca grunted. “Tales of my death were exaggerated. I got a scratch, that’s all. The Crusaders are planning to assault the city. We need to negotiate with the garrison to surrender. If those maniacs smash their way in, the emperor won’t have anything worth retaking.”
“Sir. I’ll pass the message on. Shall I bring the reply to you personally?”
“Yes, and in Greek. I doubt one in a thousand of these people can speak the language, let alone read it! Advise the emperor I can negotiate on his behalf; I speak the Turkish tongue, as he knows, and have been here long enough to know when to sneak into the city.”
“Which way would that be, sir?”
“By boat, of course. At night. So you’ll have to assist with your men.”
Butumites nodded. Casca left him to get back to his sketching. He hoped Alexius came through in time; if he left it too late then he was in no doubt the Crusaders would break through, and if they did, Nicaea was doomed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The night was still. The waters of the lake gentle. The moonless sky offered little light to see by save for the tiny pinpricks of stars that showed through the patchy clouds that drifted carelessly across from west to east.
Casca waited in one of the three long boats that bumped softly against the reed beds on the edge of the waters, just where the city walls rose sheer out of the lake. A few torches lit up the faces of the Greeks in the boats, as much to help the Turkish troops standing on the battlements above them see that this was no sneak attack.
Negotiations had been difficult, given that the Crusaders had to be kept out of them; Casca was certain that if Raymond, Godfrey or Bohemond – or even the newly arrived Robert of Flanders – found out about the negotiations they would do their best to undermine them. It would also drive a wedge between the imperial force and the Crusaders.
Along the wall close to the lakeside were a few portals. They were all shut and almost certainly barricaded from within, but one of these was now opening and the imperial soldiers tensed. Casca slid forward, still in a squatting position, and reached the bows of the boat. The two Greek marines in the forward half of the boat moved aside for him. Both were armed with bows and swords.
A turbaned figure appeared, attired in baggy clothing. Three well-armed guards accompanied him and they stood on the narrow stage that stood outside the sally port. There was no room for anyone else. All three guards had bows with arrows loosely nocked, and could in the blink of an eye draw, aim, and loose. Anyone dumb enough to try anything would be skewered.
“Who speaks for you?” the Turk commanding the small group asked softly. He was aware that the meeting must go without the Crusaders noticing. He spoke accented Greek.
“I do,” Casca replied, no more than twenty feet from the Turk. He spoke in Turkish.
The Turk looked surprised at his own tongue being used, then bowed. He was hook-nosed, sported a long, thin mustache and possessed deep black eyes. “Selim of Mosul,” he introduced himself. “Captain of the Guard. I have been given the responsibility of conducting the talks this night.”
“Strategos Longios, representative of the Emperor Alexius I Comnenus of the Romans,” Casca said, switching back to his imperial rank. It made things much easier if one possessed multiple ranks. “May we continue in the safety of the city?”
“Indeed,” Selim bowed, “but only you and one other.”
Casca scrambled onto the wooden stage as one of the guards stepped back into the portal. The eternal mercenary turned round. “Butumites. You shall accompany me.”
As the engineer struggled to climb out of his boat, Casca was led through the doorway, passing through the huge stone wall and into a small area that had stone stairs leading up into a dark rectangular opening. The guards formed the front and back of the small group as Casca and Butumites climbed up into a dimly lit chamber. This was a guard room which led into a bigger chamber.
Here a wooden table had been set up with papers on it. Chairs were arranged around it and Casca and Butumites were shown to two of them. Selim sat in one on the opposite side and a couple of clerks took their places at the longer ends. Three guards took up standing positions at the various exits, silent but watchful. The atmosphere was tense.
“Speak,” Selim began, clasping his hands together on the table top.
“My lord has offered generous terms for you and your garrison if you surrender.”
“What are these terms?”
“That you and your men will not be harmed and will be transported under escort to Constantinople. Your own Sultan has deserted you. This city is surrounded by people implacable in their hatred of you and should they storm the walls, which they are preparing to do, they will slaughter each and every one of you and sack Nicaea.” He used the Turkish name for the city, Iznik, when speaking.
“And the populace?”
“Since they are Greek and Christians, they will merely revert to imperial rule. They will avoid unnecessary harm and injury should the city be surrendered to us, rather than be taken by force by the Crusaders.”
“What if we decide to fight on? We have sufficient supplies here to last many, many months. My Sultan may well return with another army, a bigger one.”
Casca reached into his tunic and pulled out a couple of sheets of parchment. “We took this from a messenger who tried to sneak through our lines two nights ago. I’ve read it. It is from Sultan Kilich Arslan to your garrison. He says you are to do what you consider is best for he cannot give you any more aid. He will not be returning.” He passed the message to Selim who took it and read it in the light of an oil lamp, angling the paper so that the script could be properly seen. His face grew grim.
&n
bsp; “What you say is true, Christian. Of course this will have to be read by the ruling Council. I shall also give them my report on what you have told me.” He clicked his fingers and a door at the back of the room opened and in came a slave woman carrying a tray upon which were olives, glasses and small pieces of oil-soaked bread. “Please, feel free to help yourselves.” He picked up a jug that was brought by a second slave girl and poured out three glasses of the liquid, passing one to Casca and Butumites. He lifted up his own glass. “To a successful conclusion,” he said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Casca said. Butumites followed suit.
Casca looked at the slave girls. Both looked Greek. They had dark hair and olive colored skin. Each was in their late teens and looked frightened. No doubt locals enslaved from families that tried to resist the new overlords of the city. That would change.
Back in his tent in the camp Casca lay on his bed and looked at the canvas without seeing it – his mind was elsewhere. He had spoken to Giselle on the matter of the relic after Adhemar had gone. She really thought a miracle had occurred, and Casca felt guilty about deceiving her, but he’d no choice. Either that or be revealed for what he was, and he didn’t want that. The superstitious and God-fearing people would see him as some sort of cursed being and turn on him; societies always did. That was why he never felt part of any, except maybe the pagan ones who were more inclined to believe the mysteries of the gods. Monotheistic religions were more rigid and unyielding, and Casca feared their fanaticism more than the others.
Having said that, he’d been burned by the followers of Ahura-Mazda and sacrificed by those who believed in the Quetza, so even there he’d had problems. Religion. He swore under his breath. Damn them all to hell, or hades or wherever they sent the shit in their cultures after death.
Giselle came to him and slid in under the single blanket. It was too warm for any more. Her naked body felt good against his and he wrapped an arm around her. “Did the talks go well?” she asked.
“Mmmm,” he said, nodding. “They’ve nowhere to go. They’re going to have to surrender. We laid on the plunder aspect a bit heavily just to give them something to worry about, but I think if Raymond and the others got in then we’d have a massacre on our hands. You’ve seen how the priests here have whipped up people’s feelings. Damned fools don’t understand they have to pick carefully who they attack.”
“But they’re heretics,” Giselle pointed out.
“Everyone who doesn’t agree with them is a heretic in their eyes,” Casca said with feeling. “The priests are a royal pain in the ass. They talk such shit but if you disagree with them they accuse you of being an unbeliever or a devil worshipper or something like that and have you burned or stoned to death. A pox on them all.”
“Not Bishop Adhemar; he’s a nice man.”
Casca stroked Giselle’s hair. “I bet he’s gotten where he is by having the odd opponent excommunicated or imprisoned. You don’t achieve high status in society without trampling on a fair few faces – or if you happen to be born into it.”
“Oh, you’re just an old misery,” Giselle teased him, poking him in the chest. “He believed that Syagrius’ finger healed you. Surely you do, too!”
“I don’t know, Giselle,” Casca said. “I agree it’s odd me healing like that – maybe the relic did. Maybe it was co-incidence. As long as Adhemar believes it then we’re fine. He’ll make sure old Syagrius gets to Jerusalem.”
Giselle poked Casca again, piqued at his irreverence. Casca grabbed her and flung her beneath him. She squealed. He prodded her in the ribs. Giselle squirmed. “Oh, stop it, you vache!”
“Vache, am I? Well, you’re going to have a beast to deal with now!”
She writhed, trying to break free but she was held fast. Casca now began stroking her, slowly but firmly, and Giselle’s sounds changed. She gasped, then began moaning. She shut her eyes and leaned back into the pillow. Casca spread her legs and maneuvered himself. “Now, my little vixen, see how you like a beast riding you.” He thrust into her and Giselle cried out, wrapping her legs around his back.
Their tent filled with animalistic sounds of pleasure.
Nicaea surrendered shortly afterwards, just as Raymond and the other leaders were preparing to attack. That morning they lined up to launch what they believed would be the final assault, they stood in disbelief as the imperial flags fluttered from the ramparts. The gates were opened and out came Pecheneg riders. The garrison came next, escorted by the imperial troops.
The Crusaders stood open-mouthed, both in shock and outrage. They had been denied the plunder they saw as rightfully theirs. Casca stood alongside Raymond and his other nobles, and felt the Count’s head turn in his direction. “Did you have anything to do with this, Baron?”
Casca looked at the furious Raymond. “How could I? I’ve been in your camp all this time.”
“You have gone out at night, to the lakeside, so I’m told,” Raymond countered. “Supposedly to visit the engineers. But for all I know you opened negotiations with those damned Turks.”
“Who’s inside? Not I. Shall we go see?”
Casca led a grumbling Raymond in his wake up the ramp and across the wide open ground before the main gate and into the city. A few other lords and notables came with them, all regarding the lines of Turks with hostility. There were a fair number of well-dressed officers amongst them and to the Crusaders very ransomable. They saw this as an opportunity to make money slipping through their fingers and they were not best pleased.
They saw Butumites talking to two dazzlingly attired Turks, both under guard, and walked up to them. The street was being kept clear of civilians by soldiers, but the populace, all relieved at being freed from Turkish rule, cheered from their windows or the pavements. Any non-Muslim was welcome, whether they be orthodox or catholic.
“You!” Raymond pointed at Butumites, “what do you think you were doing conducting negotiations with these dogs while we were enduring their insults and stones outside? This is an insult!”
Casca grinned at Butumites from behind the fuming Raymond. The Greek engineering commander stroked his neat black beard. “Sir, the emperor extends his thanks to you and all the other brave western lords in helping return this city to Christian rule. He tells me your rewards are awaiting you in Pelekanon. I am to escort you there tomorrow.”
Raymond was taken by surprise. He looked at his junior nobles, then back at Butumites. “Reward?”
“So I am informed,” Butumites bowed. “You and all the other senior nobles are to travel to the emperor for your remunerations.”
“Ah, well,” Raymond cleared his throat. “Yes. In that case I shall of course accompany you. Tomorrow, you say?”
“Yes, sire.”
Raymond nodded, cleared his throat again, then led his small group off to explore Nicaea. Casca chuckled and waited until the two Turkish officers were led away by some Pechenegs before speaking to Butumites. “Nicely done; that took the wind from his sails.”
“We found a huge hoard of treasure in the Sultan’s quarters early this morning. It’s being taken to Pelekanon as we speak. I think it must be Kilich Arlsam’s entire treasury.”
Casca guffawed. “Ho! No wonder the old bastard was trying all day to break through our lines. He must be pissed off no end. Any problems?”
“A couple tried to resist, even though their commanders ordered them to lay down their arms. They’ve been enslaved. There’s a few nice looking slave girls we discovered in his harem. I’ve sent them with the treasure to the emperor.”
“Best thing to have done,” Casca looked round. “I’m going to bring my girl in here and find some quarters. I’ve got a little bored with the tent.”
Butumites grunted. “You’ll be back in one soon enough, sir.”
“Don’t I know it, Butumites? Ah shit, none of these Franks have any idea what’s awaiting them further east. Just as well.”
Butumites nodded and resumed his duties. Casca went back outsid
e to fetch Giselle and to pack up their tent and belongings. He’d spend a few nights of comfort in Nicaea before leaving. They’d won here, but further into Anatolia things would be different. The easy bit was done.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A week later they set out south-eastwards. Tatikus and his men led the way with the armies of Bohemond and Robert of Flanders close behind. Godfrey of Bouillon came next with Raymond’s force at the rear. They followed the imperial road to the winding Sangarius River and crossed it to a village where a council of war was held. Casca was kept out of it. He didn’t mind. He was regarded with more than a little suspicion by the Crusader leaders. Raymond was convinced he’d been instrumental in the surrender of Nicaea to the imperial forces and kept him busy organizing the camps and the instructing of the various groups on how to counter the likely threat from the Turks.
Giselle kept close to their tent. She had been told in no uncertain terms by Adhemar to make sure the relic was guarded at all times. The bishop was still unsure as to the relic’s powers, if it had any, and his feelings were that they should wait until they got to Jerusalem when he would have the time to study it properly. Casca privately thought the bishop had ambitions in being the primary cleric of the city which would carry with it immense prestige. The announcing of a proven holy relic at the same time would carry enormous weight behind his claim should it come to a contest between him and any other.
The terrain changed once they had passed the Sangarius. They were now climbing steadily, the road following a watercourse that drained off the central plateau down to the river. The lush vegetation of the coastal plain gave way to sparser scrub, and only the occasional gnarled tree could be seen, and then usually only in the sheltered valleys and gorges away from the higher ground. This area was alternatively sun baked in summer and frozen in winter.
Stones and boulders dotted the route and Tatikus and his men were busy clearing the road of these obstacles, pitching them down into the dry watercourse. Come the autumn and the rains, the dry valley would become a torrent and the rocks would be washed further downstream.