Deus Le Volt

by Jon de Burgh Miller

  The boy looked up, and his previous expression of disinterest was replaced by one of alarm, his eyes widening at the sight of the two travellers.

  ‘Who are you?’ he whispered fearfully. ‘You’re not going to kill me, are you?’ Emily presumed his reaction was due to their clothes still being somewhat out of place.

  Lechasseur raised a hand in a friendly manner. ‘Relax. We won’t harm you. We’re just looking for a friend of ours. We just want to speak to someone in charge.’

  The boy made the sign of the cross on his chest and looked up towards the sky. ‘Father, forgive me my sins and remove the blight of your enemies from my life.’ He looked back towards the visitors, took a few deep breaths, then stood up straight as if mimicking a gesture he had seen the grown-ups adopt in formal situations. ‘You are from the city?’ he asked.

  Lechasseur and Emily looked at each other. They needed an alibi. Emily just hoped it was one that would be well received. ‘Yes, we’re from the city,’ she replied.

  The boy frowned then shook his head. ‘May God have mercy on your souls, and your heathen idols stay forever fallen.’ He tied a rope loosely around his horse’s neck and secured it to a tent pole. ‘I see you are bearing no weapons,’ he said, ‘though I have heard your like have magic rituals that can deceive pure Christian souls into believing what is not real. Follow me, and if you let me live, I will take you to my master.’

  3

  As they walked through the camp, Emily’s desire to change clothes intensified, not just because of the heat of the day, but because it became increasingly clear how out of place she looked. She didn’t know whether it was a white girl accompanying a black man or her unusual dress sense that made people stare more, but either way, it was clear that nobody in the camp had seen anything quite like them before. The natives seemed to be dressed very simply, in drably coloured rags and what looked like sheepskin tunics or crop sacks that must have itched like hell. From time to time she saw someone wearing cleaner, brighter-coloured clothes than most and realised this must be one of the superior figures among the group, but for the most part they looked a motley and pathetic bunch.

  ‘Who are you taking us to?’ Emily asked the boy.

  ‘You’re in the camp of Godfrey de Bouillion,’ the boy replied, his voice shaking. ‘He is the Duke of Lower Lorraine and holder of more armies and fiefdoms than the rest of the holy princes put together.’

  They walked past several large tents, the standard of dress improving with every group of people they saw, until finally the boy stopped outside a tent with a crude yet intimidating red cross painted on the side in what Emily suspected was blood. She guessed the symbol did not mean that this was the first-aid tent.

  The boy paused before drawing back a cloth blanket that was covering the entrance. ‘If you so much as breathe in the wrong direction when in the presence of my master,’ he warned, doing his best to sound intimidating, ‘then you will both be killed.’

  The boy moved through the entrance, and Lechasseur and Emily followed.

  Inside the tent, Emily could see that the structure had been partitioned into different areas, each serving a different purpose depending on the time of day. Most of the tent appeared to be designed for sleeping, with rags strewn out across the ground and several men lying down upon them, like the destitutes one occasionally saw picking through Blitz rubble in the East End.

  In one corner of the room, a group of children played while their mother watched on, making a futile attempt to suckle a heartbreakingly pathetic-looking baby that, based on its size and skeletal definition, Emily was sure wouldn’t stand a chance of surviving more than a few days.

  The boy led them further into the tent, to a large, open area with a small table in the middle. A burly, shirtless man in his early forties, with an unruly grey beard that spread down to his chest and a sheepskin garment around his waist, was standing at the head of the table, giving orders to a group of emaciated younger men who were struggling to get into heavy-looking tarnished chain mail vests.

  ‘Forgive me, master’ the boy said. ‘I have something to show you.’

  The men looked up. Gasps and mutterings rippled across the room as they saw the unusual visitors.

  The large man marched over to Lechasseur. ‘A heathen minion, in my camp?’ He looked down at the boy and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. ‘What in the Lord’s name do you think you are doing, bringing such a wretched specimen into my home?’

  ‘I... I’m sorry sir,’ the boy said fearfully. ‘He came from the city. I thought perhaps you could use him, to set a trap for the devils?’

  The man seemed to think about this for a few seconds, then let go of the boy, who fell to the ground and scrabbled away, out of arm’s reach.

  ‘I’m sorry, master,’ the boy said again, but Godfrey wasn’t listening. He had turned his attention toward Emily, circling her as if eyeing a cut of meat. He placed a hand softly on her chest.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Emily said under her breath.

  Godfrey smiled and backed away. ‘What brings such an angel here? You accompany a Turk, yet your colour suggests that you are a Christian, and one who has not toiled in the sun. Even those with the purest of white skin have found themselves sullied by this devilish climate. How has one such as you maintained her pallor in this place? Which prince sent you here?’

  ‘Sir,’ the boy piped up before Emily could reply, ‘she was with the heathen. I don’t believe she is one of us. Look at her clothes. I think she came from the city too.’

  Godfrey nodded, and Emily shuddered as he ran his fingers through her hair. ‘Your clothing is strange; it seems you have been brought from distant lands. My, my, your captors really are devils, aren’t they?’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘No doubt they have had you locked up in some dungeon where narry a ray of sunlight could reach your fair skin?’

  He looked up at Lechasseur. ‘Perhaps you have come to return her,’ he said in a mocking tone, ‘as some kind of “peace” offering?’

  Godfrey’s companions chuckled to themselves at this, but snapped quiet as their leader shot them a cold glance.

  ‘We are travellers,’ Lechasseur began. He stopped and looked around at the expectant faces. ‘She is not a prisoner. We come not from this city, but from one far away. We’re merchants. We heard about your struggle and we wanted to help, perhaps to trade supplies.’

  ‘And what do you have to offer?’ the loud man asked, looking intrigued.

  ‘We can negotiate with the city authorities. Get you all the supplies you need. And in return, all we ask is that you give us information on the whereabouts of one of your number, who we believe poses a great danger to all our peoples.’

  Emily was impressed by Lechasseur’s charade. The natives seemed to be falling for it.

  Godfrey looked puzzled, then burst out laughing with a great guffaw. ‘So, you think that Godfrey de Bouillion is an easy target, eh? I know what you want, Saracen. You want us to remove the dams from your well streams, to allow your people access to the harvests outside the city. I can assure you we do not bargain with devils or their worshippers.’

  Lechasseur managed to maintain his composure. ‘We do not worship devils, I assure you.’

  ‘You come from Antioch, where the Emir kills Christian children for pleasure, and expect me to believe that? Or are you one of the rare few; one who, despite holding the look of Lucifer in your eyes, has recanted and pledged his life to Christ?’

  Emily knew from history books she had read at Honoré’s flat that Antioch was the old name for somewhere in modern Turkey, but she couldn’t remember exactly where. She could however remember that it had been the site of many great battles and much bloodshed. She realised that these people must be the Christian warriors that history would later come to call crusaders.

  ‘I... I am a Christian,’ Lechasseur said. ‘I wish only t
o see peace for all people, and it breaks my heart to see Christ’s soldiers suffering in such conditions.’

  Godfrey moved closer to Lechasseur and leaned forward until there was barely six inches separating their faces. ‘I don’t trust you, outsider. But if you have come from the city to betray your people, you may yet prove to be useful to me. Our siege will break the people of Antioch. God is with us. But you may be able to assist in the Lord’s work.’

  The man turned to his followers. ‘He will not die today,’ he announced. ‘But if these strangers try any trickery or witchcraft, we will kill them instantly.’

  Their conversation was interrupted as an out-of-breath young man entered the tent and hurried towards Godfrey.

  ‘Sir!’ he said, before quickly remembering his manners and giving a quick bow. ‘It’s happened again, sir.’

  Godfrey leaned forward, his eyebrows arching. ‘Another murder?’

  The newcomer nodded. ‘One of the tailors, sir. It is just like the others. His corpse is pale and desiccated, his face petrified with fear.’ The man crossed himself. ‘It is the Devil’s work, sir.’

  Godfrey frowned. ‘And there is no evidence of a fight? No-one’s admitting an honourable killing?’

  The man shook his head. ‘It must be the Saracen, sir. They are ungodly cowards. They don’t proclaim their victories like we do.’

  Godfrey stood up and turned to one of his entourage, a slender man in his late twenties with long blond hair, perfectly smooth skin and wearing a smart tunic, knee length boots and neatly cut hair, a man who seemed to be of a fairly high rank. ‘Your thoughts, Simon?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s the Saracen. There’s no evidence of their usual raiding tactics. Besides, we know they’re primal, animalistic creatures who would not know to cover their tracks. The murderer must be someone closer. Or a stranger.’

  Godfrey turned towards Emily and Lechasseur. ‘Yes,’ he said, his face baring teeth. ‘A stranger... Take them away.’

  Simon and one of Godfrey’s guards grabbed hold of Emily and Lechasseur and began to march them from the tent. Lechasseur started struggling but soon seemed to think better of it, deciding to go along with whatever they had in mind for now.

  Emily had no intention of being so compliant. She wriggled in Simon’s grasp, trying to break free. ‘Wait!’ she shouted. ‘We can help you. Leave me alone!’ She saw Lechasseur turn to her, his expression a silent plea for her to be quiet, but she wasn’t having any of it. As her friend was led away and out of sight, she hoped he would be safe, and decided to raise the stakes. She kicked Simon hard on the shin and he recoiled, although he continued to hold her firmly in his grip.

  ‘Simon?’ Godfrey called over, clearly tiring of all the fuss. ‘Send her to be a washerwoman. Now that most of our womenfolk have returned home to England, we could do with a few more servant girls.’

  As Simon continued wrestling Emily toward the exit, she turned round and swung a punch at him, which he caught with his other hand. ‘My, you are an aggressive one, aren’t you!’ he said.

  ‘Get off me!’ Emily cried.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ one of the other guards said, ‘she is a lady, even if she has the disposition of an angry Turk! Maybe you can tame her for your pleasure.’

  The room guffawed, relishing the spectacle. Emily didn’t want to spend a moment longer with these primates. She slammed her elbow back into Simon’s stomach. This time, she managed to wrench herself free from his grip, then tried to make her way out of the tent, but a row of guards with sworded belts around their waists had formed to block her path.

  ‘You’re a slave now, girl,’ said Godfrey through gritted teeth, ‘so behave like one – or face death.’

  The guards advanced on Emily, the lead one drawing his sword. Emily waited until the last moment before ducking down and knocking him off balance. His sword clattered to the floor. More nimble than the knights, Emily managed to snatch up the weapon. Simon’s reactions were also quick. ‘I’ll handle this!’ he said to the other knights, drawing his own sword. Emily regained her balance, then lifted her sword to make contact with Simon’s.

  ‘Stop this stupidity!’ Simon urged, but Emily was determined. She attempted to slice a blow into Simon’s side, but he dodged it effectively, parrying back and almost hitting the girl. She was amazed she had actually avoided the blow. She’d fenced once or twice with Honoré, but this was a very different matter. The swords were about fifty times heavier than rapiers for a start, but adrenalin managed to keep Emily fighting. She dodged a few more blows, then managed to clip Simon. He looked down, shocked, clutched the wound and held his hand up. ‘She drew blood!’ he said, amazed.

  Emily leaned forward, holding her sword to Simon’s neck. ‘Let me go free,’ she said.

  Emily sensed the other guards creeping up behind her. She turned to face them, but one managed to grab her sword arm and wrench the weapon out of it.

  ‘Leave her!’ Simon said, catching his breath. He turned to Godfrey. ‘My Lord, the wench has spirit. I would like to request that she be my personal slave.’

  Godfrey chuckled. ‘Indeed she does put on a fair sport.’ He gestured to the tent exit. ‘You may take her away.’

  The guards relaxed, groaning with disappointment as they resheathed their swords.

  ‘I’m not your slave!’ Emily insisted, glaring at Simon.

  ‘Relax,’ he whispered in her ear, still clutching the cut in his side. ‘If you want to kill me, then you can do so in my tent. Making a fuss here will only result in your beheading.’

  Now unarmed, Emily realised she had little choice but to go along with Simon’s wishes. At least without the guards after her, she might get a chance to run away once they were outside.

  The sun was beginning to set as Lechasseur was roughly pushed down into one of the pits in the ground that formed the crusaders’ prison cells. He hoped that Emily was being treated a little better, wherever she was – though he rather doubted it.

  In one corner of the pit, a bony figure with an Arabic complexion was urinating onto the ground. In another, a small child chewed ferociously on a piece of fruit that had clearly gone rotten many days ago, while rats scuttled around her. Honoré had thought the crusader camp to be the worst-smelling environment it was possible for anyone to experience, but the evil odour in this cell proved otherwise.

  He cursed himself for having misjudged the situation so badly. How could he have been so naïve as to suppose that he and Emily could simply waltz into this unfamiliar historical period, in a distant foreign land, and talk the locals into revealing the whereabouts of the strange knight they had encountered in London? They didn’t even know the knight’s name, for heaven’s sake! How had he let Emily talk him into embarking on this foolhardy endeavour in the first place? Maybe some of her adventurous spirit was rubbing off on him...

  He looked up to the top of the pit and saw a guard standing at the edge of it, making sure no-one attempted to climb out. How long would he be kept here? He had no way of knowing; and it was hardly reassuring to think that if and when he was released, he would still be suspected of treachery, and possibly even murder. He decided he was going to have to try tactics that were a little more forceful if he didn’t want to end up spending the foreseeable future down here with the rats.

  He cracked his knuckles and loosened his joints before reaching up towards the guard’s legs. This was going to be an interesting night.

  4

  Emily sat staring at the scrawny carcass of a pig roasting on a spit over a fire that had been lit outside Simon’s tent. It was dark now, yet still one of Simon’s squires was guarding over her, as he had been for the last few hours, making sure that she didn’t try to get away. Simon himself stood beside Emily, waiting for the pig to finish cooking.

  Emily was sure she could hear a distant wolf howl, or was it a growl? Either w
ay, running into the desert was something even she wasn’t reckless enough to try.

  ‘You know I won’t run away,’ Emily told her captor bluntly. ‘At least not until morning.’

  Simon smiled and looked up at the squire. ‘At ease, Aethelred. Join us at the fire.’ The man took one more suspicious look at Emily, then moved to sit down next to his captive, shoulders relaxing as he did so.

  ‘Emily,’ Simon said, ‘I want you to be happy here. You’ll never survive on your own, not if that murdering Saracen you consorted with has been punished for his sins. You can make this much easier on yourself. Try to see the good in the situation in which you find yourself. Taking the cross is a wonderful thing indeed. Please don’t listen to the Devil. Please fight it.’

  Emily closed her eyes and felt the heat of the flickering fire gently warming her eyelids. She imagined she was back home, sitting by the fire in Honoré’s flat in London, or in some country hotel away from the bustle of the city. But when she opened her eyes again, her daydreams shattered as she found herself back in this hot, unpleasant and hazardous environment. It wasn’t just the terrible smells that upset her, or the degrading way in which, as a woman, she was treated, but more being so very far away from anything resembling familiarity or home comforts.

  She and Honoré had travelled into the past and into the future, had seen wondrous possibilities and probabilities, but this was the first time they had travelled into distant history, the first time she had felt quite so anachronistic and out of place. This was not just a different culture, a different time period, but a totally unfamiliar way of living.

  Emily had never met royalty before. While princes like Godfrey were far from her idea of refinement, the way they’d constructed mini-courts, complete with followers at all levels, even slaves, in spite of the heat and lack of resources, was an impressive show of how tightly knit the feudal system was. It was a strange set up, and one that Emily found it very uncomfortable to be a part of. Faith was at the centre of everyone’s lives here. Everything revolved around it. I can’t even remember who I really am, Emily thought. How am I supposed to know if I’ve sinned or not? There were just so many loopholes, so many contradictions. Yet for these people, religion was the only reason they had to live. After all, it was only the promise of a better afterlife that kept them going through such squalor and suffering. If only that afterlife didn’t have to come with spilling the blood of innocents too. Emily had never met anyone who talked about God more than these people, yet for all the talk of Christ and of doing the Pope’s work, they wouldn’t think twice about beheading or stabbing an enemy, or even a fellow soldier who betrayed them. It was a lawless and dangerous place, and she knew Honoré would face worse treatment than most here.