Children stared at me, then ran toward their houses. “It is Hugh. Hugh De Luc. He’s back from the war,” they shouted.
All that could have seemed familiar about me was my mane of red hair. People rushed up to me, neighbors I recognized, whom I had not set eyes upon in two years, their faces caught between shock and joy. “Hugh, praise God, it is you.”
But I pushed past, barely acknowledging them. I was drawn on a direct path to our inn.
Our home… My heart sank as I came to the spot.
A burned-out hole was left where our inn had once been.
Among the cinders stood a single charred support post that had once held up a two-story structure, built by the hands of my wife’s father.
Our inn had been burned to the ground.
“Where is Sophie?” I muttered, first to the charred ruins of the inn, then to faces in the gathered crowd.
I went from person to person, sure that any moment I would spot her coming back from the well. But everyone stood silently.
My heart began to beat insanely. “Where is Sophie?” I shouted. “Where is my wife?”
[76] Sophie’s older brother, Matthew, finally pushed out of the crowd. When he saw me, his expression shifted-from surprise to a look of deep concern. He stepped forward, hurling his arms around me. “Hugh, I can’t believe it. Thank God you’ve come back.”
I knew the worst had happened. I searched his eyes. “What’s happened, Matthew? Tell me, where is my wife?”
A look of deep sorrow came onto his face. Oh, God … I almost did not want him to tell me the rest. He led me by the arm to the remains of our home. “There were riders, Hugh. Ten, twelve… They swept in, in the dead of night, like devils, burning everything they could. Black crosses on their chests. They wore no colors. We had no hint of who they were. Just the crosses.”
“Riders …?” My blood was frozen with dread. “What riders, Matthew? What did they do to Sophie?”
He placed a hand gently upon my shoulder. “They burned three dwellings in their path. Paul the carter, Sam, old Gilles, their wives and children, killed as they fled. Then they came to the inn. I tried to stop them, Hugh, I did,” he cried.
I seized him by the shoulders. “And Sophie?” I knew the worst had happened. No, this could not be. Not now …
“She’s gone, Hugh.” Matthew shook his head.
“Gone?”
“She tried to run, but the men took her inside. They beat her, Hugh…”He pursed his lips and bowed his head. “They did worse. I heard her screams. They held me as they beat and raped her. Knights tore up the place, ripping it post by post. Then they dragged her out. She was like a lifeless thing, barely alive. I was sure they would leave her to die, but the leader threw her over his horse while the others released their torches. It was then that…”
I could barely hear him. A distant voice was echoing, No, this cannot be! My eyes welled up with tears. “It was then that what, Matthew?”
[77] He bowed his head. “They dragged her away, Hugh. I know she is dead.”
All strength drained from my legs. I sank to my knees. Oh, God, how could this-have happened? How could I have left her to this fate? My Sophie gone… I gazed upon the charred ruins of my former life.
“Norcross did this, didn’t he? Baldwin …?”
“We do not know for certain.” Matthew shook his head. “If I did, I would go after them myself. They were beasts, but faceless ones. They wore no crests. Their visors were down. Everyone ran to the woods for cover. Yours was the only house they entered. It was as if they came for you.”
For me … Those bastards. I had fought two years for Baldwin ’s own liege. I had marched across half the world and seen the worst things. And still, they took from me the one thing I loved.
I grabbed some dust from the rubble and let it slip through my fists. “My poor Sophie…”
Matthew knelt down beside me. “Hugh, there’s more…”
“More? What could be more?” I looked into his eyes.
He put a hand on my face. “After you left, Sophie had a son.”
Chapter 24
MATTHEWS WORDS HIT ME like a stone wall, collapsing over me. A son…
For three years Sophie and I had tried to conceive, to no result. We had wanted a child more than anything. We even spoke of it that last night we were together. I had left her, and never even knew I had a son.
I turned toward Matthew, a flicker of hope alive in my heart.
“He is dead, Hugh. He wasn’t even a year old. The bastards killed him that same night. They tore him from Sophie’s arms as she tried to flee.”
A wall of tears rushed at my eyes. A son… A son I would never know or hold. I had been through the fiercest battles, the worst of all horrors. But nothing could have prepared me for this.
“How?” I muttered. “How did my son die?”
“I can’t even say it.” Matthew’s face was ashen. “Just believe me when I say that he is dead.”
I repeated my question, this time fixed upon his eyes. “How?”
His voice was so quiet. “As they threw Sophie’s lifeless body over his mount, the leader said, We have no room for such a toy. Toss him in the flames.’ ”
I felt a pressure building up, an anger clawing at me as if my insides were ripping through my skin. God had smiled on us [79] after all that time. He had blessed us with a son. Now He spat at me with the sharpest mockery.
How could I have left them? How could I still be alive if they were dead?
I looked at Matthew and asked, “What was his name?”
Matthew swallowed. “She named him Phillipe.”
I felt a lump catch in my throat. Phillipe was the name of the goliard who had raised me. It was her tribute to me. Sweet Sophie, you are gone. My son too … I felt the urge to die right there amid the charred ash, the ruins of my old life.
“Hugh,” Matthew said, lifting me up, “you have to come.” He led me up the trail to a knoll where I had just stood over the town. A small slate stone marked my son’s grave.
I sat down under a shroud of tall poplars. “Phillipe De Luc, son of Hugh and Sophie,” was scratched into the stone. “Year of our Lord MXCVIII.”
I laid my head on the earth and wept. For my sweet Phillipe, whom I would never see, not even once in my life. For my wife, who was surely dead.
Was this why I was spared? Was this why the Turk had not swung his murderous sword? So I would live to see all that I loved lost? Was this why the laughter had saved me? So God could laugh at me now?
I took off the pouch that contained the things I had brought back for Sophie: a perfume box, some ancient coins, the scabbard, the golden cross-and I dug a hole next to my baby’s grave. I gently placed my “treasures” in it. They were worthless to me now. “They belong to you,” I whispered to Phillipe. My sweet baby.
I smoothed out the earth and once more laid my head on the ground. I’m so sorry, Phillipe and Sophie. Slowly my grief began to harden into rage. I knew Baldwin had ordered this. And Norcross had carried it out. But why? Why?
I’m just an innkeeper, I thought. I am nothing. Just a serf.
But a serf who will see you dead.
Chapter 25
A CROWD GATHERED around us as Matthew and I came back into town. Father Leo, Odo, my other friends… Everyone wanted to comfort and bless me. And hear of my two years in the war.
But I pushed past them. I had to go to the inn. Its ruins… I sifted through the charred wood and ash, searching for anything that breathed of her, my Sophie-a piece of cloth, a dish, a last memento of what I had lost.
“She spoke of you all the time, Hugh,” Matthew told me. “She missed you terribly. We all thought you were lost in the war. But not Sophie.”
“You are certain, brother, that she is dead?”
“I am.” Matthew shrugged. “When they took her she was already more dead than alive.”
“But you did not actually see her die? You don’t know for sure?”
I met his eyes. “So she may not be dead, Matthew?”
He looked at me quizzically. “You must accept it, Hugh. If she was not then, I’m certain she was soon. Her body could have been left somewhere along the road.”
[81] “So you searched the road? And did you find her? Has anyone traveling from the west come upon her remains?”
“No. No one.”
“Then there’s a chance. You say she never doubted me. That she knew I would return. Well, I do the same for her.”
I found myself in the part of the inn where our living space had been. Everything was cinder. Our bed, a chest of drawers… On the floor, I noticed something reflecting light.
I dropped to my knees, swept away ash. My heart almost exploded with joy. Tears welled in my eyes.
It was Sophie’s comb. Her half of the one she’d placed in my hand the day I left. It was charred, broken; it almost crumbled in my hand. But in my blood, I felt her!
I held it up, and from my pouch hastily removed the other half. I fitted them together as best I could. In that moment, Sophie came alive to me-her eyes, her laugh-as vibrantly as when I had last seen her.
“These knights, Matthew, they didn’t leave her to die in the same flames as my son. They took her for a reason.” I looked up at him, holding the comb aloft. “Perhaps it is not such false hope after all.”
Outside, my old friends Odo and Georges the miller were waiting.
“Give us the word, Hugh,” Georges said. “We will hunt the bastards with you. We’ve all suffered. We know who is responsible. They deserve to die.”
“I know.” I put my hand on the miller’s shoulder. “But first I must find Sophie.”
“Your wife is dead,” Odo replied. “We saw it, Hugh, though it seems more nightmare than real.”
“You saw her dead?” I waited for the smith to answer.
I looked at Georges. “Or you?”
They both shrugged guiltily. They glanced at Matthew for support.
[82] “Sophie lives as my own Alo lives,” the miller said. “In Heaven.”
“For you, Georges, but not for me. Sophie still lives on this earth. I know it. I can feel her.”
I picked up my staff and pouch and slung a skin of water around my neck. I headed toward the stone bridge.
“What are you going to do, Hugh, jab them with that stick?” Odo hurried to my side. “You are just one man. With no armor or sword.”
“I’m going to find her, Odo. I promise, I’ll find Sophie.”
“Let me get you some food,” Odo pleaded. “Or some ale. You still drink ale, don’t you, Hugh? The army didn’t cure you of that? Next I’ll hear you’ve been going to church on Sundays.”
From his guarded look, it was clear he thought he would never see me again.
“I will bring her back, Odo. You’ll see.”
I took my stick and headed into the woods.
Toward Treille.
Chapter 26
I RAN IN A BLIND HAZE in the direction I had come. Toward my liege’s castle at Treille.
Grief tore at me like wild dogs. My son had died because of me. Because of my stupid folly. Because of my foolishness and pride.
As I ran, a swell of bitterness surged inside. The thought of that bastard Norcross, or any of his henchmen, having my poor Sophie…
I had fought for these so-called nobles in the Holy Land while they raped and slaughtered in the name of God. I had marched and killed and followed the Pope’s call. And this was my wage. Not freedom, not a changed life, but misery and scorn. I had been a fool to trust the rich.
I ran until my legs gave out. Then, exhausted and blind with rage, I fell to the ground, covering my sores in dirt.
I had to find Sophie. I know you are alive. I’ll make you well. I know how you’ve suffered.
At every turn, I prayed I would not stumble over her body. Every time I didn’t, it gave me hope that she was alive.
After a day of traveling, I looked around and didn’t know where I was. I had no food and had run out of water. All that pushed me on was rage. I checked the sun. Was I heading east or north? I had no idea.
[84] But still I ran. My legs were like heavy irons. I was dizzy and my stomach ached for food. My eyes were glazed over with tears. Yet I ran.
Passersby on the road looked at me as if I were mad. A madman with his staff. “Treille …” I begged them.
They scurried to get out of the way. Pilgrims, merchants, even outlaws let me pass for the fury in my eyes.
I knew not if it was one day or two. I ran until my legs gave out again. As I came to my senses, darkness clung to me. The night was cold, and I was shivering. Ominous sounds hooted from the brush.
From deep in the woods, I heard the rushing water of a stream. I clawed my way off the road and into the woods, following the sound.
Suddenly I lost my footing. I grasped for a bush, but my hand slipped. I started to tumble. I clawed for anything to hold, a vine, a branch. The ground disappeared beneath me.
Jesus… I was falling.
Let it come. I deserve it. I will die out here in the night.
I called to Sophie as I hurtled out of control down the ravine.
My head smacked against something hard. I felt a warm and viscous fluid fill my mouth. “I’m coming,” I said one more time.
To Sophie.
To the howling darkness…
Then the world went black on me, and that was much better, thank you, Lord.
Chapter 27
I CAME TO-not to the rush of water, or anything heavenly, but to a low, dangerous, rumbling sound.
I opened my eyes. It was still night. I had fallen into a deep ravine, far below the level of the road. My back was twisted against a tree and I could barely move. A wound ached horribly on the side of my head.
Again, I heard the deep rumbling from the woods.
“Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”
There was no reply. I focused on the spot in the darkness, trying to make out any shape. Who would be out here in the night? Not anyone I wanted to meet.
Then, I focused on a set of eyes. Eyes not human at all, but large as prayer stones: yellow, narrow, fuming. My blood froze.
Then it moved! I heard the brush crunch under its feet. The thing took a step out of the forest and came clear.
Dark, hairy…
Blessed Jesus Christ! It was a boar! Not twenty paces away.
Its yellow eyes were trained on me, inspecting me as if I were its next meal. I heard a snort. Then it was deathly still.
The thing was about to charge! I was certain of it.
I tried to clear my head. I could not possibly fight such a beast. With what? Its breadth alone was twice mine. It could slash me to pieces with its razory tusks.
[86] My heart was pounding, the only sound I heard other than the beast’s low growl. It took another step toward me. The boar’s murderous eyes never left my own, deliberate and tracking.
God help me, what could I do? I couldn’t flee. It would run me down in my first steps. There was no one to shout to for help.
I searched for a strong tree to climb, but I didn’t want to move, to set it off. The beast seemed to study me, bucking its head, snorting its deadly intent. I could smell its fierce, hot breaths, the blood from past conflicts matted in its hair.
I grabbed the knife at my belt. I didn’t know if it would snap against the beast’s hide.
The boar snorted twice and flashed its teeth at me, its jowls red and dripping. I did not want to die. Not like this… Please, God, do not make me fight this thing.
I felt so incredibly alone.
Then, with a last deep snort, the beast seemed to understand that-and it charged.
All I could do was leap behind a tree, barely escaping the first violent gnash of its fearsome t
eeth.
I stabbed wildly at it with my knife, tearing at its face and neck, doing everything I could to repel its snarling jaws. The beast lunged viciously. It came again and again. I clawed with my knife, backing around the tree. The boar’s jaws ripped into my thigh and I cried out. The air emptied from my lungs.
Good Lord, I was pierced.
I had no time to inspect the wound. The beast slammed into me again, this time goring my abdomen. I screamed in pain.
I kicked at it and slashed my blade. It backed and lunged. Its teeth clamped on my thigh and it shook its head as if to tear my leg out of its socket.
I kicked myself away from the boar. I tried to run, but my legs had no strength. Blood was spattered everywhere.
Somehow I limped across the clearing, my strength nearly sapped. My abdomen felt as if it were on fire. I was done here. I [87] fell to my side and backed myself against another tree, waiting for the end to come.
Beside the tree, I saw my staff. It must have toppled there in my fall. I reached for it, though it wasn’t much of a weapon.
I stared at the angry, snorting boar. “Come at me, offal. Come at me! Finish what you started.”
My mind flashed to the Turk who had spared me, a world away. This time, no laughter would save the day. I held the staff like a spear. “Come at me,” I shouted at the boar again. “Do me in. I am ready. Do me in.”
As if to oblige, the beast made another charge.
My breath was still. I offered no defense except to raise the staff at the shape flying toward me. Harnessing all my remaining strength, I thrust the rod with all my might at its eyes.
The beast let out a blood-chilling cry. I’d actually hurt it. The staff stuck in one eye. The boar staggered and shook its head madly, trying to rid itself of the staff.
I grabbed my knife and with whatever strength I had, stabbed at its throat and face, at anything I could strike.
Blood seeped out of its fur, each knife thrust striking home. Its growls diminished. It stumbled, still swinging its head to free the rod, while I continued to slash, tearing at its coat.
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