by Tony Roberts
Casca snorted. “I think he’s not going to be happy with you. What do you think, Bartholomew? You believe it to be the real one here?”
Bartholomew cocked his head to one side. “I must admit to be having doubts about the true Spear being at Castle Alamut. We really need to take the Antioch Spear to the Elder and there we can hold a conclave to consider it.”
Casca turned a full circle. Still nobody threatened him. He knew they were there, out of sight, hiding. It made his skin crawl. “You won’t be able to take it away from the Crusaders, you know that. It’s part of this army, as much as any banner or flag. They believe it won them the battle the other day.”
“We shall see. We must await the Elder’s words. So, that leaves the question of what to do with you.”
Casca grunted. He knew that was coming. “Easy. Leave me be.”
“Tut tut, Longinus. You know better than that. Our mission is to keep you in sight at all times, ready for when He comes again, to meet you, as He said on the cross.”
“Then leave me be; how can I meet with Him if you’re all over me? It’s not as if I’m going to run off to Jerusalem all by myself, am I?”
Bartholomew pondered for a moment. “You’re still going to Jerusalem? Do you believe in this Crusade? I’m surprised at you, Longinus. I was under the impression you’re not a religious man.”
“I’m not; but this is a military campaign. You know me, I’m….”
Without warning Casca whirled, his right hand gripping his sword hilt and hauling it clear in one smooth movement. He was still turning, his left leg firmly planted on the floor, when the blade began following him in a blurred arc. The Brotherhood agent who had been sneaking up on him opened his mouth in surprise and pain as the blade ripped through his chain armor, tearing it apart, along with his stomach muscles.
The blade completed its arc, rising as Casca pulled it free of the man’s now ruined guts. The Brotherhood soldier’s sword clattered noisily to the stone floor and he fell to his knees before collapsing in a heap at Casca’s feet.
He whirled as more sounds reached his ears. Two more Brotherhood guards had emerged from the dark, close to Bartholomew. “Enough, you bastards. I won’t hesitate to kill you all if it’s necessary.”
Bartholomew held up his hand and the two guards stopped, swords gripped firmly in their hands. They looked at the priest, waiting for his command. “It would seem that you are as difficult and uncooperative as I have heard.”
“I’m just me,” Casca said, keeping an eye on the three. “Keep away from me or I’ll come for you all.”
“Which is whom?” Bartholomew smiled. “You see the three of us here, but what of the others? And maybe there’ll be more to arrive soon? Who knows what the Elder will decide?” He sucked in his lower lip. “I myself shall work on making sure the Spear does not stray far from me. Until I receive definite orders from Castle Alamut, I shall allow you your freedom. For the moment.”
Casca sneered. “Generous of you.”
Bartholomew mock bowed. “If you do try to make a run for it I shall inform the other lords of the existence of the relic at once. I would guess one or more of them will demand its destruction. Godfrey for one would; he does not accept Syagrius as a saint, and he and his men never will.”
“So you’re going to hold it over my head as a threat to behave myself?”
“If you like. From what you say it would seem you’re going to take it to Jerusalem. What you intend doing with it there is beyond me. Adhemar is dead; I doubt Orange would permit it. You may be fortunate though – they may elect a new Bishop of Jerusalem who is sympathetic to a new saint.”
“And maybe one who will allow the True Spear to remain in your hands. I doubt that!”
Bartholomew’s face became thunderous. “I shall decide what to do about that myself without you offering any brilliant advice, Longinus! You may go – but we shall be watching.”
“Then maybe you’ll learn something.” Casca stepped over the corpse of the man he’d struck down, looked at him once, then strode from the cathedral.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As all things do, the plague passed. It took weeks but eventually those who had fled returned, including the lords and their entourages. The streets were cleared of corpses and food flowed into Antioch from the surrounding areas. They were lucky in that it was harvest time and so nobody went hungry. Bohemond was assuming the role of Prince of Antioch and treating the others as his vassals. It was a pain in the ass.
Casca sold most of Giselle’s furnishings and belongings. He had no need of them and Mehmet had his sword and wanted nothing else. He would remain by Casca’s side until his lord had no further use for him, or until death. Casca’s depression remained as long as he remained in the house, and began to look for alternative accommodation.
Surprisingly it was Raymond who came to Casca’s rescue. The Count of Toulouse was royally pissed off with Bohemond and resented the way the Norman noble was pushing everyone around. He was even making overtures in making peace with the local Turkish emirs and forming an alliance against the Empire. He’d had enough, and went looking for a place for himself to sit out the coming winter.
Most of the surrounding towns and fortresses were in Christian hands and so Raymond had no trouble in taking over one of the places to the south of Antioch, on the road to Jerusalem. It was also closer to the port of St. Symeon and Raymond used his influence to arrange for the port to supply him first. Being on better terms with the emperor meant that the Cypriots were more inclined to co-operate with Raymond than Bohemond.
The council broke up and Raymond approached Casca one morning, summoning him to his home. He informed Casca of the coming move out of Antioch and asked whether Casca wished to come with him and serve as one of his officers. Losses to plague, battle and desertion had hit all of them hard, and good men were hard to replace. Raymond needed someone like Casca close to him, and he was prepared to overlook the differences they’d had in the past.
Casca agreed and he and Mehmet packed up, only taking the belongings they could carry, and made their way with Raymond’s army to the fortress he’d appropriated, high up on a hill overlooking the road to the south. The locals were mostly Syrian Christians and were cautiously welcoming. Theirs was the orthodox faith, not that of the West, and to them the Crusaders were almost as bad as the Muslims.
Mehmet was happier away from Antioch. It had come to represent frustration, death and hostility to both Casca and himself. They’d been there, either outside or inside, for a year, and they were no closer to achieving their goal than they had when they had first come to the city. Now they had lost the entire Norman contingent and these losses would be hard to replace.
Raymond asked Casca to write to the emperor and ask whether any further men and supplies could be sent to him. He also advised Alexius of Bohemond’s betrayal of his Oath and the virtual seizure of Antioch from the rightful owner, the emperor. Raymond smiled grimly; that would occupy Bohemond enough to stop him interfering in any further Crusade issue. He could fuss about in the city and rule it. He would not have the time to look outside.
The only good thing about that and of Baldwin’s seizure of Edessa was that it now secured the Crusaders’ rear. Nothing could threaten them from that direction. Once they began marching south they would face everything head-on. The local emirs were divided and news had come that Egypt had moved on the Turks holding Jerusalem and had retaken it. That had further served to splinter the Islamic opposition. Turks faced Egyptians, Turks faced Turks.
Casca wondered about Raymond’s change in attitude towards him. He was much friendlier and decided that the count was missing Adhemar’s good advice and companionship. His wife, Elvira, got used to Casca and Mehmet visiting them frequently, and before long they were on good terms. Casca found her somewhat aloof and correct, but friendly enough. That suited him as he didn’t wish to get too close to anyone, what with the Brotherhood lurking about.
That bro
ught up the thorny question of Peter Bartholomew. Raymond had brought the priest with him, as the Holy Lance had been adopted by the Provencal soldiery and they were its most fervent supporters. Peter wasn’t going to let the Lance out of his sight and was almost joined to it. His piety and fervor were talked about and admired by the rank and file, but Casca knew the reason of this supposed devotion. It made his blood boil.
Bartholomew was always friendly in public, smiling and addressing Casca as ‘Baron’, but both knew there was a real hatred behind the smile. The one good thing was that there hadn’t been any sign of a communication from Castle Alamut, and Casca could only assume that the journey was hard in autumn and winter. The roads could have been washed away, bandits could have ambushed messengers, mountains could have had landslips. He would just have to wait.
With the coming winter the raids out of the castles came to an end and everyone settled in for the shorter days. Raymond asked Casca about the relic. “Adhemar was going to call a conclave of bishops once we got to Jerusalem to discuss it, but now he is dead I’m not so sure. I know Godfrey would never sanction it, and neither would Robert of Normandy, I believe.”
“I’m following the Lady de Doumanche’s dying wish, my lord. I can only convey it to the city. What happens to it afterwards is not my affair, and is not in my hands. I’m no priest or bishop, and only they can decide, not any secular figure, so no matter what Godfrey or Robert may say, it makes no difference.”
Raymond shook his head sadly. “You know nothing of politics, so it would seem, Baron. A priest will be appointed Bishop of Jerusalem, and it will depend on who supports that election. Suppose for argument’s sake Godfrey manages to arrange the election of one of his priests, then that priest will be indebted to Godfrey and will favor his wishes over those of the other nobles. If Godfrey does not wish the relic to be recognized, then it will not.”
“But if your candidate succeeds?”
Raymond shrugged. “I would recommend it accepted. Again, the conclave may oppose it should there be sufficient priests and bishops under the influence of the northern lords, but the overall bishop would have great influence.”
“Is it likely you’d have a candidate elected?”
Raymond looked thoughtful. “I shall have to give it some serious consideration. The Bishop of Orange is the senior cleric now that poor Adhemar had passed away, but I may be able to secure the support of someone who may be acceptable to everyone. I myself will state that it has twice acted as a healing agent. Shame it was not used in Antioch,” he said, looking at Casca.
“By the time I heard he was ill he had died. Nobody bothered to come tell me, and by that time Giselle was afflicted anyway.”
“So why didn’t you use it on her?”
It was a fair question. Casca thought fast. “Giselle refused to allow it. She said something along the lines that God was calling her and it was her time. I can’t really remember exactly the words but it was something like that.”
“Ah. Then there’s the Lance,” Raymond sighed. “This is causing quite an argument. There are those who doubt its power and are saying it’s a fake, and yet others who insist it will lead us to victory.”
Casca grunted. “It seemed to do the job outside Antioch. Are you going to be able to separate it from that mad priest?”
“Who, Peter Bartholomew? He’s being rather strange, saying he keeps on having visions and that the saints wish us to march on Jerusalem and so on. It’s not militarily sensible to do that now. We will have to wait until the spring and when we’ve resupplied.”
However, the enmity between Raymond and Bohemond flared up again and it seemed for a while that the two armies would actually go to war. Casca stayed inside the walls of the castle, determined to keep out of the squabbling, but eventually he went with the army to besiege a nearby town. It was a tedious time, but the lack of provisions in the valley meant that the Crusaders had to pillage further afield, and the seizure of the town would mean that their left flank would be secure once they moved on Jerusalem.
The town fell and the inhabitants were massacred, much to Casca’s and Mehmet’s disgust. Even in victory the Crusaders resorted to squabbling, and Casca seriously considered quitting. Finally, with Bartholomew insisting his visions were getting stronger, and the ordinary soldiers almost pleading with Raymond to lead them south, the Count of Toulouse consented and many in the other armies joined Raymond as he marched away from the castle southwards. It was winter but nobody was prepared to wait any longer, and marching now during the cooler season made more sense. Casca knew from experience that traveling down into Palestine in summer would be no easy thing.
Both Tancred and Robert of Normandy joined the army, content to serve under Raymond who now was given overall command of the Crusade, but both Godfrey and Robert of Flanders hesitated. Whether that was down to them not liking Raymond as leader, or some other cause, nobody was saying.
Casca was happy to be on the move once more. Antioch had been a pain in the ass and he was leaving too much behind there. Mehmet said very little, but he was clearly not happy remaining with the Crusade. Casca would have to speak to him about that before long.
Raymond called Casca to his tent that night after the day’s march. They were camped around a town called Kafartab. He asked questions to his strange, scar-faced advisor about the land ahead, the people, the likelihood of encountering enemies. Were there water sources on the route? Were there large garrisoned towns or castles nearby? What was the best route to take the next day, and where would they finish by nightfall?
Casca gave the best answers he could, referring to Raymond’s map. The army crawled along, as all armies did, handicapped by the baggage and camp followers. They were passing into hostile territory again and would not leave the slower moving non-combatants. Their fate would be quick and painful if they were abandoned.
“We will cross the Orontes,” Casca said, pointing to the wriggly line of the watercourse, “and once across will be in Muslim territory. Now, I don’t know if you appreciate the situation here, but the locals are mostly Arabs who have no love for the Turks. Up to now the Turks have had their way these past ten-fifteen years, but with our coming, that’s changed everything. The Turks have been defeated repeatedly, and it’s no doubt delighted the local dynasties.”
Raymond listened intently. Being undisputed leader had brought a change to him. Now he was acting like a true leader, rather than a sulking child denied a treat. He now had responsibilities. “Perhaps a treaty with them? I would not wish to fight for every foot I take towards the Holy City.”
Casca nodded. “There’s also the possibility of a trading deal with them, too. You’ll need food, horses, equipment. If they sell you those, perhaps in their mind you’ll go on your way and leave them in peace. Everyone knows you’re bound for Jerusalem, so the quicker they let you through the better.”
Raymond decided to wait for a few days so that those coming from Antioch could reach him – they had two days’ head start on them – and so that his men could be resupplied. He also sent out ambassadors to the local rulers, and was pleased to get responses.
Casca took the opportunity to speak to Mehmet. “I know you’re troubled, my friend. Your heart is not here, is it?”
Mehmet shook his head. “I see bloodshed without reason. The killing of warriors is one thing, effendi, but slaughtering innocents is not the work of honorable men. I wish to have no part in this.”
“I feel the same way, but I’m bound by a couple of things. I must go to Jerusalem. You do not have to. I release you from my service. You’re free to take whatever course you wish.”
Mehmet smiled in the half light of the moonlit evening. “I thank you, effendi. Now I must seek the answers in contemplation. Allah will guide me. Please excuse me; I must think.”
Casca waved him away. He sat there alone, looking out over the plains of northern Syria. The sky was a huge starry dome, filled with glittering diamonds. He sighed. It was cold. Wrapping
a blanket around him he thought on his predicament. He may be part of the Crusade but his aims were vastly different to those of the rest of them. Come to that, what were the aims of the others? Most of the ordinary people just wished to regain Jerusalem for Christianity, but that wouldn’t solve anything in itself.
Just having the one city under Christian rule surrounded by Islamic territory wouldn’t last long. So the leaders would have to expand their territory outwards if it were to survive. He guessed that was what Raymond, Robert and Tancred were planning. That meant more fighting, more slaughtering. It was no good hanging onto a city full of people who followed a different religion; sooner or later you’d come unstuck.
Casca was decided. He’d go as far as Jerusalem, both in order to place the relic on Golgotha, and to satisfy his own curiosity about that particular place. If Jesus would return, then he reasoned it would be there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The army inched south. Mehmet stayed with Casca. He had decided that as long as they avoided any further sieges then he would follow the army south. He had nowhere to go anyway. His people were to the north, beyond Antioch and Edessa, and there was no way of getting back there.
Supplies were abundant. The local rulers opened their gates to trade and, as Casca had foretold, were all too eager to sell their goods to the fearsome army that was on its way to Jerusalem.
The one pain for Casca was Peter Bartholomew. He was also becoming an irritant to the rest of the leadership. His proclamations of doom if the Crusade tarried were upsetting the strategic concerns of Raymond and the others. When they decided not to follow the most direct route through Damascene territory but to cut through the hills to the coastal plain, Bartholomew foretold punishment to those who had determined that course.
Casca thought it more sensible. Of all the local rulers, Dukak of Damascus was the most powerful and the one most likely to resist the Crusaders. Raymond also reasoned that if they stuck to the coast, they could be supplied by sea.