I WOULD WANT MY WIFE TO KNOW I LOVED HER.
He closed the codex, screwed the lid back on the inkpot, held the journal to his heart for a few moments while he prayed for God’s blessing, kissed the book and placed it carefully in his saddlebag. He said goodbye to Abbot, who seemed to sense Caedmon’s quiet desperation as he nuzzled his master.
“Thank you, worthy stallion. You’ve helped keep me alive. Hopefully we’ll see each other again,” he whispered as he stroked the horse.
They found a gate at the back of the ruin, overgrown with vegetation. When all seemed relatively quiet in the Turkish camp, Caedmon and Amadour slipped through it and slid carefully down the steep hill, away from the Turks. The enemy was camped on the other side, at the approach to the ruin, but it was probable they would send out patrols. They crept slowly away from the sea that was their ultimate goal.
They could hear Turkish voices, smell the pungent odour of the food cooked in their camp and didn’t want to bump into some wandering Saracen accidently. It was a still night and the blue smoke from the smouldering campfires hung in the silent air. Any noise might carry to the enemy.
Caedmon hoped the occasional muffled moans of pain and despair from the exhausted wretches huddled in the ruin would mask any sounds they might make. The slippery grass made it difficult to keep their footing in the dark. They ran their hands over the grass and assuaged their raging thirst by licking the meager moisture from them.
When they judged they’d gone far enough, they doubled back in the direction of the water and away from Nicaea. They found a pool of fresh water in a ditch and fell into it face down, slaking their rampant thirst, then staggered on for another hour.
“There,” Amadour exclaimed, pointing to a small rowboat pulled up on shore.
Caedmon’s spirits lifted. “This should take us down the strait. There seems to be no one about. Let’s get it in the water.”
“I pray I have enough strength left to row,” Amadour wheezed.
“The wind has come up. Let’s hope this stretch of water isn’t as treacherous as that between England and Normandie. This is a flimsy craft.”
A journey that should have taken them about an hour took two.
“The city seems to get nearer, and then further away,” Amadour complained, and Caedmon suspected the Norman’s tired muscles felt like they were about to rupture, as his did. They were exhausted by the time they dragged the boat out of the water. Two guards accosted them as they staggered up on the rocky shore. They feared they would be thrown into the dungeon, but finally managed to get the burly Byzantines to understand they were crusading Christians in need of help.
~~~
The Emperor and his guest, the English Earl, were breaking their fast, when a message was brought. Ram intended to leave at first light.
“Highness, pardon the interruption, there are two Crusaders who wish to speak with you. They tell a tale of escaping from the ruins near Civitote. They say there are many desperate crusaders who have taken sanctuary there and are trapped by the Turks. One of them is an Englishman, the other a Norman.”
“English and Norman? Good that you’re here, my dear Earl, to help me speak with them.”
When Caedmon and Amadour were ushered in, Ram didn’t at first recognize the filthy wretch spattered with blood, though the messenger’s news had drawn his interest. Caedmon was completely bald, his beard dirty and unkempt, his bronzed face gaunt. He was exhausted and desperate to get his plea to the Emperor. He didn’t pay attention to the other man sitting near Alexius.
“You bring a message, young crusader for Christ?” the Emperor asked.
“Your Highness,” Caedmon said hoarsely.
Alexius appeared startled. “I was told you were English. You sound more like a Scot.”
Ram jumped up from his seat and walked towards his son. “Caedmon? Can it be you? You’re a sight I’ve longed to see for many a day.”
Disoriented, Caedmon turned his attention to the man who’d spoken his name. It took him a moment to recognize him. He couldn’t believe his father was there, looking overjoyed to see him. The implications of what he must have gone through to get there, and why he was there, hit Caedmon full force. He collapsed to his knees in thanksgiving for his father’s forgiveness.
“Mon seigneur? Father, I can’t believe—you came for me—you came to search for me, the most ungrateful wretch anyone could have for a son.”
The man who had risked death to accompany him from the ruin ran to his aid.
“Amadour, c’est mon père,” Caedmon explained to the confused Norman, at the same moment that Ram said to the Emperor, “He’s my son.”
Ram moved quickly to embrace Caedmon, dragging him to his feet.
“Caedmon, Agneta is with child. We must return to England with all possible haste.”
Caedmon rose with difficulty. “With child?”
The Emperor, who by now had risen to his feet, held up his hand and interrupted. “First, what of this abandoned ruin and the besieged crusaders languishing there?”
Amadour explained, “Your Highness, there are thousands trapped there who managed to reach the safety of the ruin. We slipped out and crossed the strait to fetch help. The Turks have them under siege. There’s no food or water.”
Alexius summoned a servant and dispatched an order. He turned to the Earl and explained, “I’ve commanded a battle squadron be sent on the morrow under the command of Constantine Katakalon.”
“I would like to accompany them, if possible,” Ram asked.
The Emperor acquiesced to his wishes. “I’m delighted you’ve found your son. I invite you to take him to your accommodations. I will send servants to attend to his obvious needs. You have many things to speak about. We will take care of his companion.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
Ram clamped his arm around Caedmon’s shoulders and escorted him to his quarters, muttering, “I can’t believe it. We had abandoned hope.”
Baudoin had been making final preparations for departure and was startled to see his father with an unpleasant smelling and unkempt ruffian. He’d never met Caedmon.
“Baudoin,” Ram’s voice broke. “This is your brother, Caedmon. God has seen fit to deliver him to us. Caedmon, your brother Baudoin.”
Baudoin’s jaw dropped open then he smiled. “Caedmon?”
Caedmon was astonished Baudoin had also risked his life to find him. What kind of family was this he suddenly belonged to? He hung his head. “Baudoin, I’ve been a selfish fool. Can you forgive my stupidity and blind hatred?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Caedmon. You were lost and now you’re found,” Baudoin replied, raising his right hand, his palm open in a gesture of brotherhood. Caedmon returned the gesture and they clasped hands, gripping each other fiercely.
“You need a bath, brother,” Baudoin grimaced with a smile.
“Aye, for certain,” Caedmon chuckled. “I’ve got used to it, but I know—”
Two servants came to prepare a bath and his father reassured him he should bathe and get some rest. There would be plenty of time to talk on the long journey home, after they’d helped to rescue the unfortunates trapped in the ruin.
~~~
The following morning, the Turkish commander in charge of the siege of Civitote woke early and, as he stretched his cramped muscles, seemed dismayed to see a battle squadron of the Byzantine Navy docked in the bay below him. Weighing his options, and satisfied he’d managed to kill most of the infidel dogs in the so called People’s Crusade, he decided to withdraw his troops and allow the escape of those trapped in the ruin.
The Christians came ashore when they saw the Turks had withdrawn and relieved the besieged crusaders. Caedmon was reunited with Abbot. Both Montbryce men went with the rescue party and when Caedmon was greeted by his Norman friends with embraces and effusive thanks in Norman French, and responded with equal ease, Ram and Baudoin were amazed.
“It seems you’re a Norman af
ter all, Caedmon,” Ram jested.
His son smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Wait until you read my codex,” Caedmon said, extricating the journal from his saddlebags.
The survivors were ferried back to Constantinople, the last remnant of an ‘army’ that had started out forty thousand strong. Many of them were on their last legs and had to be carried from the ruin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mabelle missed Ram terribly. It was the first time they’d been separated for any length of time since her captivity in Wales, and recalling that terrible episode brought back some difficult memories. But when Ram returned, he would be overjoyed if a healthy grandchild awaited him. She prayed daily for the safe return of her men. After she saw Ram off on the expedition to recover Caedmon, she immediately sent a messenger to Shelfhoc Manor, inviting Agneta and Ascha to come to Ellesmere. Agneta accepted and travelled to Ellesmere with Tybaut and some of the men-at-arms. Ascha opted to stay at Shelfhoc, citing the presence of her house guests, the Brightmores. Mabelle greeted Agneta warmly.
Agneta curtseyed. “My lady Countess, I’m indebted to you for inviting me here. It’s hard to be at Shelfhoc without Caedmon. I’m sorry we’ve brought this trouble to your door.”
Mabelle proffered her hand to Agneta and helped her rise. “Lady Agneta, these are difficulties we’ll overcome with prayers and goodwill. We’ll keep each other company as we pray and wait for the men we love to return. All we can do is keep faith and support each other.”
Agneta was given a chamber and a lady’s maid assigned to take care of her needs. She’d brought some clothing with her, which the maid unpacked from her trunks. Because she was with child the clothes would soon not fit her, so she had brought only a few things. The dagger lay among her belongings. She felt somehow it had become a talisman, a symbol that perhaps there was hope for Caedmon’s return. She concealed it in her chamber.
Gradually she and Mabelle got to know each other. One day she felt bold enough to say, “My lady Countess, Caedmon isn’t your son. He’s your husband’s illegitimate son and yet you’ve accepted him, and me, and allowed your husband to look for Caedmon in a place he may not want to be found, a place of many dangers.”
Mabelle looked up from her sewing. “Agneta, I learned long ago that if you love someone you can forgive them. To live my life without Ram would be no life. He has regretted what he did for the past thirty years. If I refused to forgive him, I would be harming myself.”
“I told Caedmon I could never forgive him for something he did,” Agneta whispered.
“What did he do?” Mabelle asked quietly.
Agneta told the story about the death of her parents and Caedmon’s part in the raid. “I could tell from my hiding place that he regretted what had happened. But I’ve continued to make him suffer for it.”
Mabelle watched Agneta for several minutes then asked. “Do you love him?”
Agneta fidgeted with her embroidery. “I love him with all my heart. If he doesn’t return—”
“Have you ever told him you love him?”
Agneta hung her head. “No, if I had he might have been better able to cope with the shock of finding out the Earl is his father. He believes I don’t love him. When he despised himself, he had no love to cushion his fall.”
Mabelle reached out and patted Agneta’s hand. “You can’t blame yourself, Agneta. But now you’ve a child to consider. You must make sure that you take care of yourself, then, God willing, your baby will be born healthy and you’ll survive. When Caedmon returns, you must tell him how much you love him.”
“I will,” Agneta sighed.
She decided the Countess was right. She took good care throughout her pregnancy and kept a positive outlook about Caedmon’s return. The alternative couldn’t be borne. In her ninth month, when she’d grown large, she walked daily and ate the good food Trésor prepared for her. She was determined her baby would grow up with at least one parent. After all, her mother-by-marriage had raised Caedmon alone in difficult circumstances.
Mabelle provided Agneta with the best of care. The younger woman had many questions and the Countess was able to allay some of her fears. The day her labour started she wasn’t as afraid as she had been, and took it all in stride. As she strained in the birthing stool, fighting the pain, she concentrated on Caedmon—his smile, his face, his hair, his hands, his body, the sound of his husky voice. She envisaged welcoming him home, showing him his child for the first time.
She was comforted by the presence of Mabelle, who insisted on being the one to support Agneta’s shoulders during most of the labour. Agneta jested she would tell her son as he grew that he’d been brought into the world with the aid of a Countess.
The last leaves were clinging to the trees outside as the cool autumn winds assailed them. Agneta had never been as hot in her life as she travailed to give birth, and in the afternoon of her second day of labour, she heard the cry of her first born child.
“It’s a boy,” cried Mabelle. “A beautiful strong boy. He has Caedmon’s black hair.”
The midwife was worried. “My lady, there’s another babe,” she whispered to Mabelle.
“What is it?” Agneta whimpered. “My son?”
“Non, Agneta,” Mabelle soothed, wiping Agneta’s brow. “Don’t worry. But we’ll need to mark him in some way. There’s another babe. I need a knife, something to mark him with.”
The midwife handed over a knife, but Agneta stopped her. “No, go to the armoire. In the bottom, there’s a dagger, wrapped in cloth. Use that. It’s an heirloom, from my Viking ancestors.”
Mabelle quickly found the weapon and nicked the baby’s forearm to mark him as the first born. Minutes later, Agneta gave birth to a tiny girl. Though she was exhausted, the good care she and Mabelle had taken with her health came to her aid and the midwife assured her everything was as it should be. They cleansed Agneta and helped her to bed. After a while, they brought the two newborns to her, swaddled and hungry. Mabelle laid the girl to Agneta’s breast.
“She’s not first born, but she’s tiny and needs you first,” she said, tearful at the thought of Ram’s blue eyes glowing with pride at the sight of these grandchildren. “Now October will have a happy memory associated with it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“We’ll rest a few days before beginning the journey back,” Ram decided. “Your ordeal has taken its toll on your body, Caedmon, but you’re strong, and you’ll soon regain your strength. You have good bloodlines.”
Caedmon smiled at the wink his father gave him. “With the Emperor’s lavish hospitality, I’m confident you’re right,” he replied, putting his feet up on an ottoman.
“Baudoin and I have met with the Norman knights who survived with you. All expressed their gratitude for your saving their lives. They praised you as a man of fortitude who bore the trials and ordeals of the journey with courage and forbearance. I’m proud of you, my son.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Amadour de Vignoles,” Caedmon replied.
“I’ve invited Amadour and the others to join our forces if they wish. They were honoured, recognizing the Montbryce name. Allying themselves with our family may bring them renewed hope after the terrible failure of this crusade. Once we reach Normandie, if they meet our standards, they can either remain at the castle in Saint Germain or go with us to England.”
Caedmon suddenly jumped to his feet. “Is Burel among them?” he asked.
Ram raised his hand to reassure Caedmon. “Non, all spoke of his incompetence and arrogance.”
Caedmon sat back down, but not before he grabbed another handful of grapes from the groaning board set out by the Emperor. “It’s as it should be.”
Ram helped himself to a sweet confection and joined his son on the divan. “Baudoin is making sure the men-at-arms sharpen their weapons, repair armour and prepare horses before we set out. It won’t be an easy journey back to England.”
“Abbot has weathered the ordeal remarkably w
ell. I might not be alive today if he hadn’t kept going. Thank God for Tybaut’s keen eye for horseflesh.”
Ram nodded. “I understand how you feel. My stallion Fortis kept me alive at Hastings. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you about it.” Ram was surprised he’d uttered those words. He’d always avoided talking about Hastings.
After a few days rest, all were anxious to be on the road home.
“You look like a Byzantine knight,” Baudoin mocked when he first saw his brother in his new equipment, provided by Alexius. Caedmon wore a fine new chain mail hauberk, a lamellar leather cuirass over it, metal arm and leg braces, and a helmet, clothing and boots. His own were beyond repair.
Tens of thousands of people were still flocking to join the next crusade and Ram deemed it best to keep to the routes those travellers were taking, though in the opposite direction. While there were risks, it would be safer than journeying through sparsely travelled territory where they might be vulnerable.
Instead of following the Danube we’ve decided to go overland through Macedonia to Dyrrhacium, which ironically fell briefly to Norman forces many years ago. From there we’ll take ship across the Adriatic to Bari in Italy.
“I’m not sure why I want to go the sea route,” Ram complained as they made their plans. “I’m a terrible sailor.”
“So am I,” said Caedmon.
Just as at the outset of my journey, I couldn’t stop retching throughout the voyage across the Adriatic, but now I know from whom I’ve inherited this malady. The Earl was as sick as I was. Baudoin deemed it amusing. Bari was shrouded in fog from the sea and the landing was difficult.
From the heel of Italy they made their way to the Duchy of Naples. At first they traversed rolling hills, but the terrain became more difficult as they followed trails through high rounded mountains, sometimes catching sight of villages perched right on the top.
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