‘They’re starving butchers. At least try to send an envoy. I realise you don’t know me and can’t trust me yet, but send someone you do trust. I’ll guarantee their safety.’
Firuz leaned forward. ‘How do I know you’re not one of them in disguise?’ He reached out, as if contemplating touching Lechasseur’s skin. ‘You certainly come from a distant land. You could have befriended the infidel on the way and decided to trick us.’
‘To be honest,’ Lechasseur responded, ‘I couldn’t care less if the Franks live or die. But they won’t give up without a fight, and negotiating now, reaching a compromise before you all starve to death, will at least halt the suffering.’
Firuz gave a yawn and stretched his arms out before rising from his seat. ‘Six bags of grain and vegetables, nothing more. You will tell the leaders of the Franks that if they want to take this city, then they’ll have to pay a large price for me to hand over my tower. If all they want is to negotiate a peace, they should speak to our emir, Yaghi-Siyan. He will listen to their demands, but I doubt he will be able to agree to them.’ He gave a Machiavellian smile. ‘Oh, and please assure them that we’re being perfectly respectful of their “relics”.’
Lechasseur smiled and bowed his head in deference. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m certain you’ll soon be able to get your city back to normal.’
After leaving Firuz’s office, Lechasseur sent Edward, Timothy and Peter off with Firuz’s men to collect the food they had been promised, leaving him alone. He hoped he had done the right thing. His knowledge of medieval history was about as good as Emily’s memory of her past, but by dealing directly with the parties involved, he had hopefully forestalled any possibility of his being executed by the crusaders as a Saracen. And now he had some time to do his own exploring.
He asked around in the market areas, but no-one seemed to have seen anything of interest. Surely an elderly white man with a long, white beard would be a sufficiently unusual sight in the city to be remembered, wouldn’t it? Still, he had got a couple of leads to areas where white men had allegedly been spotted. Their descriptions didn’t really match that of the knight he had seen back in 1950, but every sighting of a white man was worth following up, he reasoned, even if it turned out that all that had been spotted had been the crusaders on one of their previous raids.
His first port of call was the home of a man named Kali who lived at the opposite end of the city, in the shadow of the imposing walls of the citadel. A fortress within the city, the citadel was supposed to be the last line of defence for the people of Antioch, an impenetrable refuge and hiding place to be used in times of strife. It was a testament to both the ineffectiveness of the crusaders’ siege tactics and the resilience of the people of Antioch that more use had not been made of the place. But now, hundreds of people were gathered outside, desperately trying to get into the citadel to perceived safety. Guards were busy telling the crowds to go back to their own homes where they would be safer, but several skirmishes were breaking out amongst people who could not take no for an answer. Lechasseur wondered if these were scenes repeated daily, as the people became more and more desperate.
Lechasseur didn’t want to get involved, so he asked someone on the outskirts of the crowd if they knew where Kali lived. One of Firuz’s assistants had told him that Kali was an old white guy with a reputation for advanced scientific knowledge. It certainly sounded promising.
He followed the directions and soon found the dwelling. Smoke poured from the windows. Lechasseur feared the house was on fire, but after barging through the doorway and waiting for the cloud of smoke to clear from his vision, he found the old man fanning a pan over an old stove.
‘Wretched thing caught fire again,’ the old man grumbled. He reached for one of the stove’s pans and tipped it over. A frazzled black lump of something that Lechasseur thought might have been chicken fell to the floor with a thud. ‘Three days of supplies ruined!’ the old man moaned.
He turned to see Lechasseur and looked surprised, then tried to regain his composure. ‘What do you want?’ he barked.
Lechasseur stepped further into the hut, and soon got a good look at Kali’s face. He wasn’t the man he was looking for.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he said.
The old man hobbled over to Lechasseur. ‘You’re not one of us, are you?’
‘You don’t seem that bothered that your city is under siege.’
Kali shrugged. ‘I’ve been here for most of my life, through Christian rule, Islamic rule, even a brief Pagan period... These things cycle round, and I just try to make the best of the situation.’
‘I came here because I’m looking for someone. A knight with pale skin and a white beard, like yours. I thought you might be him, or at least might know of him.’
Kali wracked his brains. ‘Sorry, I don’t pay much attention to other people. They rather get in the way of my work, I find.’
‘Could you tell me where the other white men here reside – the immigrant Europeans, like yourself? Is there anywhere where a white man who wanted to blend in could hide out?’
Kali looked at Lechasseur suspiciously. ‘The Church of Saint Peter is a sacred place. If a Christian man was on the run, he would hide there.’
Kali’s voice dropped, his tone becoming more serious. ‘If you kill a man inside the church... it is considered an extreme violation. I should warn you that your man’s compatriots would wreak a terrible vengeance.’
Reluctantly breaking off his search in order to rendezvous with the rest of his party, Lechasseur arrived back at the Tower of the Two Sisters to find Edward, Timothy and Peter just returning with a cartload of supplies. They were met by Firuz and his men. From beyond the city walls, the sound of distant trumpets could be heard.
‘The Franks have left their camp to hunt,’ Firuz said, cocking his ear to the sound. ‘They are clearly desperate for food. But still I have my doubts.’ Firuz handed Lechasseur a sealed papyrus scroll. ‘If there is a shred of decency in them, then at least they will read what I have to say and consider my words. If I am to break faith with my people, I will expect to be the richest person in the city once all this is over, with a life of unparalleled luxury. Assure your leaders, if they don’t accept my offer, they will not live to see the next winter.’ He looked up toward the city gates. ‘Now go. Please.’
The guards began winching the tower gates open just enough to let the cart through. Lechasseur, intending to slip back later via the breach in the wall and continue his search, passed through first, thanking Firuz as he did so. Peter followed close behind. Edward and Timothy, however, were no longer with them. Lechasseur looked back over his shoulder and was aghast to see Timothy slicing into the guards with his sword. He looked up to see the tower burst into flames; a warning beacon to any who might see that the crusaders had arrived. Edward raced from within the tower, his arson complete, and drew his sword to join Timothy in battle. Firuz ran for safety, shrieking ‘Infidel!’ at the top of his voice.
Across the desert, from the direction of the crusader camp, a vast crowd was rapidly heading toward the city. Lechasseur could already hear the cries, the cheers, the gallop of horses’ hooves... The crusading army was on the move.
The city gates creaked and moaned as they were winched open even wider. Lechasseur darted back inside the city, followed closely by Peter, and saw Edward straining to get the gates fully open. Two of the guards lay dead on the ground, while Timothy fought with another. Lechasseur was about to pull Edward away, but another guard got there first. Before Edward could move, a sword was thrust through his torso, sending him crashing dead to the ground.
With a riotous crash, the invading forces burst through the widening gap between the gates, the sheer force of numbers pushing them through. The wooden structures reinforcing the gates began to splinter and collapse.
Lechasseur grabbed Peter and pulled him to the edge of the city
wall to save them from being crushed by the incoming army. He paused to catch his breath, trying to take in what he was witnessing, then heard an angry, whimpering voice.
‘You tricked me,’ moaned Firuz. Lechasseur turned to see the little man cowering in a doorway. ‘I was trying to help you!’
‘No,’ Lechasseur pleaded. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know...’
Their conversation was cut off as the crusaders stormed the streets of the city, charging through any opposition and racing toward the temple where their spies had informed them the city’s elders lay in wait.
‘You must get to safety,’ Lechasseur said, pushing Firuz away. ‘If the city falls to the Franks, your life will be in danger.’
Firuz looked terrified. ‘What can I do? How can we stop them?’
Lechasseur looked around, saw the wounded soldiers and heard the cries of the terrified townsfolk. ‘Just be patient. Let them in, it’s the only way to minimise the bloodshed. Get yourself to safety, head to the citadel, then summon help. I’ll tell them you were killed in the stampede.’
Firuz reluctantly nodded, then slipped away down a side street.
Lechasseur’s mind was in turmoil. How long had the crusaders been planning this? Weeks? Surprise was the key to any military victory, and Lechasseur’s own ego had made him blind to the possibility that his expedition might be used simply as a convenient aid to the crusaders’ own attack plans. He had been made an unwitting Trojan Horse, and he was furious.
‘Are you coming with us, Saracen?’ a voice said. It was Timothy, who was holding the reins of a horse, preparing to mount.
‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ Lechasseur demanded.
Timothy laughed. ‘The Lord will repay us well. I’m going back to the camp to tell the others they are free to advance. Are you coming or not?’
Lechasseur shook his head. He still needed to complete his search. He swallowed his anger. ‘Please, make sure Emily’s safe and tell her to wait for me. I’ll come back for her as soon as I can. I need to get to the Church of Saint Peter.’
Timothy nodded. ‘I will tell Emily where you are,’ he called, before galloping off towards the open city gates.
As Lechasseur made his way through the streets toward the church, Peter trailing along beside him, he could see the damage that the crusaders were causing in the city. Roofs had been broken and stripped, and many huts were burning in the morning sun. The bodies of those who had stood up to the crusaders lay on the streets. The people of Antioch had fought bravely, but they had been caught unawares. Facing an army on horseback, far more numerous than any they could muster, they had soon been defeated. Lechasseur wondered if Emily had been among the attackers, and briefly considered returning to the camp to check on her safety. But he knew the city would not be safe for much longer, and he had to try to find the old knight before he was cut off from this place for good. He had exaggerated his standing amongst the crusaders in order to curry favour with Firuz, but he knew full well that most of them wouldn’t hesitate to behead him as just another ungodly Turk.
Back home, there were people who called Lechasseur a fixer. But a fixer made things better, made arrangements that improved people’s lives. Sometimes a deal went well, sometimes not so well, but Lechasseur usually managed to work things out and make a profit in the end. Perhaps, he reflected, this had given him an inflated view of his own abilities. Some problems are too big to fix, even for you, he thought. He had tried to fix the situation in Antioch, believed he could mediate a truce, but instead he had become responsible for even more deaths, even more suffering. For someone whose view of time was not limited to the present, he had been remarkably blind to the possibilities of what the crusaders could achieve. He vowed not to be deceived again. He had to help put history back on track and make amends for his interference, then get back home with Emily and leave these people to their own destinies.
8
The fire crackled in the rapidly cooling mountainside air. Night was drawing in, and Emily didn’t want to be around for too much longer in this climate. The tension was palpable in Godfrey’s camp. Groups of soldiers of differing levels had been gathering, many polishing their armour and readying their horses. She had seen several arguments occur, one of which had ended up in a brief fist fight. Godfrey’s army consisted of people from all over central Europe, and many clearly found it hard to leave their differences and prejudices behind them. The only thing that united the differing groups was the firm belief in the righteousness of their quest. Today the arguments had appeared more heated than usual. People were hungry and this was irritating them, but something else seemed to be on their minds, though no one would say what.
‘It’s getting cold,’ Emily said to one of the other girls as they finished squeezing water out of an old tunic they had been trying to clean. ‘Let’s get this stuff inside.’
The other woman nodded and picked up the washing basket, moving it inside the tent. ‘Why do you let them treat you like servants?’ Emily asked. ‘You’re intelligent women here, but you let them walk all over you.’
The woman looked questioningly at Emily. ‘Why are you always so quick to judge? Did it never occur to you that we choose to do these jobs?’ She pointed to the gathering crowds. ‘Look at them. The imbellis, the pedes, all ranks... they fight on our behalf, for a noble cause. They need us in order to do that, and we’re proud to be there for them. The men offered us the chance to leave many months ago, and many did, but those of us that stay realise the importance of the quest. We are God’s army, and we play just as vital a role as those that lead the battles do.’
Emily regretted offending the woman, but was glad to see Simon at the back of the tent, having his armour adjusted. Much to her companion’s horror, she walked straight over to him.
‘Simon,’ she said.
‘Emily, can’t you see I’m busy?’ Simon scowled. ‘What do you want?’
‘What’s going on, Simon?’
Simon took a deep breath. ‘A fire has been seen burning in one of the city towers. It’s a signal from our men... The gate has been opened, and we are free to take the city.’
‘But Honoré...’
Simon sighed. ‘Bohemond’s army is already within the city, and we will be there too in a short while. I’m sorry, Emily. They are skilled soldiers. Your friend’s chances of survival may not be high.’
Emily turned and walked quickly out of the tent. She had to get to the city, and fast.
She looked around and saw Timothy galloping up on horseback.
‘Emily!’ he called. ‘I have news from your friend.’
‘Timothy!’ she said as he came up alongside her. ‘I may need to borrow a horse!’
The streets of Antioch were ramshackle and arranged in a confusing manner, but Lechasseur eventually found the Church of Saint Peter, a curiously Christian outpost in a city in which, the Franks had assured him, the inhabitants had fanatically swept away anything connected with the faith.
The Church was a small stone building not too far from the citadel, with a long entranceway adorned by flickering candles and icons of the Disciples. As Lechasseur and Peter passed into the womblike depths of the building, the noise of battle and bloodshed outside faded, to be replaced with an air of contemplative silence.
The interior of the church was plain, with little decoration. Several men wearing the hooded robes of monks were kneeling in prayer at an altar, which was laid out with a crucifix and burning candles, at the front of the nave.
One of the monks turned and stood as he heard Lechasseur enter. ‘This place is for the followers of Jesus Christ,’ the man asserted.
Lechasseur didn’t have time for explanations. ‘You know there are thousands of followers of Jesus Christ outside your city.’
The man shook his head in despair. ‘They don’t understand. We Christians may be few in number in this city, but we are at
peace. We don’t need their help.’
‘You have been held prisoner,’ Peter insisted. ‘Of course you need their help!’
‘I think it’s a little too late to turn down the offer,’ Lechasseur said. The other men praying turned round to look at Lechasseur. ‘They’ve broken into the city, they’re ransacking the place. You have to stop them. Someone has to stop them.’
One of the monks stood up and walked towards Lechasseur. His voice was rich and powerful. ‘Today is not a time for sorrow, today is a great day!’
The voice seemed familiar, and Lechasseur turned his full attention to the man as he approached.
‘Who are you?’ Lechasseur asked. ‘Do I know you?’
The man laughed. ‘I don’t believe we have met.’ He began to lift his hood.
As the man’s face was fully revealed, Lechasseur realised where he had encountered him before. It was the knight who had fallen from the sky in 1950.
9
Lechasseur had found the man he had been looking for, but something was seriously wrong. The man’s beard was no longer grey and his face was far less lined. It was as if he was thirty years younger than when Lechasseur had last seen him, though with the piercing black eyes and distinctive facial bone structure, as well as the familiar voice, it was evidently the same man – either that, or a close relation. Lechasseur had worried that his time jump might have been a little off-target, but he had no idea he had got things this badly wrong.
‘Who are you?’ Lechasseur asked.
‘I was once known as Reynald.’
‘You!’ Peter said, indignantly.
‘You know each other?’ Lechasseur asked.
‘He is no monk,’ Peter said scornfully. ‘He is the Earl of Marseille, a traitor to the Christian cause.’
The man turned away. ‘I have no family but the Lord.’ He looked back and flashed a toothy grin at Lechasseur. ‘And who might you be?’
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