God's Warrior

by Hilary Green

  The battle, then, was over and he had survived and was not a prisoner. He moved his limbs cautiously and drew a slow breath in. Every part of his body ached, but as far as he could tell he was not severely wounded. Only his head throbbed and his helmet had vanished. He felt his skull and located a lump the size of an egg and the stickiness of congealing blood. Reaching around him he recognised that the weight that had held him down was a swathe of rich fabric that must have formed a curtain in some Turkish emir’s tent. It had covered him and that was why he had not been found and despatched. But where were the Turks? In the city, presumably. And what had happened to his friends and fellow Christians? Dead, or enslaved. The moon came out from behind a cloud and for the first time he was able to see his surroundings. He was in the middle of the remains of a collapsed tent and all around were overturned chests and broken furniture. He dragged himself to his feet and looked about him. The scene was familiar to him as the aftermath of any battle – the bodies of the dead lying on ground churned to mire by hooves and shed blood; riderless horses nosing amongst the debris for food; abandoned weapons and shields; small fires burning here and there; the wreckage of other tents. It had been a hard fought battle, that was clear. He wondered why the Turks had abandoned their camp. Too eager to claim the city as their own, he supposed. It occurred to him that there might be other Christians lying wounded among the bodies. He should make a search, see if he could be any help. But his head was spinning and his legs refused to bear him up any longer. He found an overturned chest, righted it and sat down.

  A flicker of light away in the distance drew his attention. He looked towards the city and saw that the light was moving. It must come from a torch being carried along the ramparts. As he watched, it was joined by another and another until a procession formed. The Turks walking in triumph around the bounds of their new conquest! Then he heard music, and this time it was not within his own head. It was the sound of voices raised in song, and the song was familiar. Far away, on the walls of Antioch, they were singing the Te Deum.

  Finally he understood. The great miracle had occurred. Against all the odds the Christians had been victorious and the Turks had fled. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer of thanksgiving. Opening them again, he addressed himself to the practicalities of his situation. He was not strong enough to walk back to the city. His friends, presumably, had given him up for dead. When it grew light they would come to search for his body. The sensible thing to do was to stay where he was and wait, but he was beginning to shiver and he knew that it was important to keep warm. He looked again at the debris around him and realised that he recognised it. He was sitting in the remains of the pavilion of Kerbogha himself. It had been looted, but not systematically. Men had made a cursory foray, grabbed what they could carry and gone. Kerbogha would have had warm clothing, rich robes to cover himself. Some might remain. He slid off the chest onto his hands and knees and began to search. Not far away a larger chest had been overturned, its contents dragged out and abandoned. He found a cloak of heavy velvet, trimmed with fur, and wrapped himself in it. He remembered the feast Kerbogha had spread out to tempt him. There had been sweetmeats of many kinds. Was it possible that the emir kept them in his own tent, to pick at when he felt inclined? He searched further and found an unopened box. As he lifted the lid the smell of sugar sent a wave of faintness through him. He reached in and felt something soft and sticky. The box was full of candied fruit, plums, pears, kumquats. He crammed several into his mouth at once, hardly stopping to chew before he swallowed. He took more and ate more slowly, then more, until his stomach rebelled and he was almost sick. Rich cushions were scattered on the ground. He pulled one to him, pillowed his head on it, wrapped the cloak closer, and closed his eyes.

  The need to urinate roused him. He staggered to the edge of the tent and relieved himself. A glance at the sky told him it was still several hours until dawn. The sweetmeats had strengthened him and his head was clearer. The procession and the singing had finished and the city lay silent. He began to regret his decision to wait. The moon had risen higher and in the stronger light he could make out more detail of the ruined pavilion and its furnishings. He started to investigate. Most of the valuables had disappeared, as he expected, but one chest remained closed. He opened it and was greeted with another familiar smell, a scent which took him back to the well-stocked library of the palace in Palermo where he had spent so many happy hours - and to another, longer ago, and the bitter-sweet memory of a friendly hand on the back of his neck. The chest was full of books. He lifted some out, caressing the soft leather of the bindings and opening the pages. It was too dark to read anything but he could see that many of them were richly ornamented. If these were Kerbogha’s own books, and he had thought it worthwhile to bring them with him on this campaign, it stood to reason that they must be valuable; works of philosophy, perhaps, or medicine or perhaps poetry; books that would enhance the lives of scholars anywhere. The looters had ignored them, but they were too precious to be left to any casual passer-by. He knew he must get them safely to the city and hand them over to someone who would appreciate their worth.

  He put the books back into the chest, closed the lid and tried to lift it. The effort told him that he did not have the strength to carry it as far as the city. A movement nearby made him start. Turning, he saw that one of the riderless horses had wandered close to where he stood. For a moment he thought it might be Brand. On the rare occasions when he had fallen off before, the horse had always stayed near him; but this animal was strange to him. Here, however, was the answer to his problem. He took a few steps towards it and the animal lifted its head and laid back its ears. He saw that any attempt to grab the reins would send it skittering away. Some bait was required. He remembered the sweetmeats and wondered if he had eaten them all. At the bottom of the box there was still a sticky deposit. He scooped it out and advanced towards the horse, holding out his hand. The horse stretched its neck and blew through its nostrils. Ranulph blew back and spoke a few soft words in Turkish. The horse reached forward. He withdrew his hand a fraction. The horse took a step towards him, then another. He let it take the sugar with soft lips and grasped the reins with his free hand. Captured, it allowed him to lead it back to where the chest of books lay. But now he saw another problem. Even supposing he could summon the strength to lift the chest onto the saddle, he could never manage to mount up behind it, and there was no way he could hold it steady and lead the horse at the same time. He looped the reins over a stanchion that still protruded from the ground and pondered. Nearby, a length of silken drapery lay trodden into the dirt. He pulled it up, drew his dagger and nicked the edge, then tore it across until he had a rough square. He created another by the same method, then placed the books in two roughly equal piles, one on each square, and tied the corners securely. Then he tore another strip, folded it and tied either end to one of the bundles. Now he could swing it across the horse’s withers so that the books hung evenly on either side. He kicked an empty chest closer to use as a mounting block, unhooked the reins from the stanchion and hauled himself into the saddle.

  The guards at the Bridge Gate were drunk and happy to let him pass. The streets were silent, the houses dark. He rode to Mariam’s house, led the horse into the stable and pulled off the saddle, then carried the books to his room. Curled on a rug on the floor at the end of his bed, Dino slept soundly as a child. Ranulph unbuckled his belt and bent over the bed, so that the coat of mail made little noise as it slipped over his head. Then he pulled off his boots, lay down, and fell instantly asleep.

  He woke to the sound of voices and the sensation of something wet on his fingers. Opening his eyes he saw that Dino was kneeling beside him and covering his hand with tears of joy. Then Marc’s face came into his line of sight.

  ‘Praise God! We had given you up for dead. We searched until dark for you. When we found Brand wandering loose we feared the worst.’

  ‘You found Brand?’

  ‘Yes. He’s
safe in the stable. Where have you been? How did you get here?’

  Ranulph struggled to speak but his throat was so dry that he could only croak. Marc said, ‘Dino, stop weeping and do something useful! Pass me that cup.’

  Ranulph raised himself on his elbow and drank from the cup held to his lips. Watered wine had never tasted so good. He reached out and tousled Dino’s hair.

  ‘Dry your tears. It seems the gates of heaven are not ready to receive me yet.’

  Fernando appeared, carrying a steaming bowl.

  ‘No gruel this time, master – and no stewed skin either! Good mutton broth to restore you.’

  Ranulph seized the bowl and began to eat. ‘The siege is ended then? There is food to be had?’

  ‘The Turks have been generous in what they left behind,’ Marc said with a grin. ‘Not only their treasure but their horses, their cattle, their flocks – all the supplies they brought with them.’

  ‘But how did it happen? How is it possible that we prevailed over such a huge army?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘I remember riding towards them – nothing after that.’

  ‘It’s a pity. It was a battle fit to go down in legend, and you were one of the heroes. I have seen men seized by battle fever before, but never so completely. You fought as if you believed yourself immortal and no one could touch you.’

  ‘I wish that were true,’ Ranulph remarked wryly. ‘There is not a part of my body that does not hurt.’

  ‘That does not surprise me. I saw you take blows that would have felled a normal man. But then I was unhorsed and lost sight of you. That is why I did not see what happened to you in the end.’

  ‘Unhorsed?’ Ranulph leaned forward, noticing for the first time that Marc had a cut to his face that had narrowly missed his eye. ‘Are you wounded, apart from that?’ He indicated the cut.

  ‘My knee is twisted. One of their men caught me by the foot and dragged me off my horse. But by then the fighting was almost over. I was lucky.’

  ‘But how did we overcome so many?’

  ‘Because not all of them fought. You were right when you said there was no unity of purpose. Kerbogha was late bringing his men to the field. Rumour has it that he was playing chess and refused to believe his captains when they told him we had sallied forth. Duqaq and some of the other emirs held back, waiting for him to commit himself. Then some of the Turks set fire to the dry grass. You remember that?’

  ‘Yes, it comes back to me, now you mention it.’

  ‘That started a panic and some of the men fled, straight into Kerbogha’s troops. That caused confusion, but it was our attack that tipped the balance. When Duqaq and the rest saw which way the battle was going they took to their heels, leaving their tents and all their goods behind. And when Kerbogha’s men saw that, they turned tail as well. I had found a new horse by that time, and we pursued them as far as the banks of the river and cut down hundreds as they tried to cross. No one stopped for booty and by the time we returned it was getting dark. Men grabbed what they could carry but there was no systematic search, which explains why you were not found. You must have been in the vanguard of the pursuit, to have got as far as Kerbogha’s tent – but as to what happened then, we shall probably never know.’

  Ranulph had emptied the bowl of broth and ran his fingers round the inside to scrape up the last residue. He was licking them when there was a flurry at the door and a swish of skirts and Mariam threw herself to her knees beside the bed.

  ‘God is merciful. He has preserved you! But why did you not call when you returned? We have wept for you all night.’

  ‘Forgive me. When I got back the house was dark and silent. I thought it best not to disturb anyone.’

  ‘We would have rejoiced in the disturbance. You must have been in need of sustenance. Are you wounded? Shall I send for Ibn Butlan?’

  ‘There is no need,’ he reassured her. ‘It was a blow to the head that laid me low, nothing more.’ He was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was filthy still from the dust of battle and that his chin was slick with mutton fat. He looked across at his page. ‘Dino, bring me some warm water from the kitchen to wash myself. My lady, I apologise for my unwholesome appearance.’

  She looked at him and he saw tears and laughter struggling for control of her expression. ‘You are here. How you look is of no importance.’

  Marc got stiffly to his feet. ‘If you will excuse me, my lady. There are matters I need to attend to.’

  They were alone and Ranulph found it impossible to meet her eyes. She sat down on the stool Marc had vacated.

  ‘I said we should speak again today. You see, I was right.’

  ‘Yes. I did not expect it.’

  ‘So there will be no need to send that letter.’

  He looked up. ‘There is every need. Whatever I have is yours and I want you to have it.’

  ‘But you will have need of it yourself now.’

  ‘My needs are few, and it will probably not be for long.’

  She put out her hand and touched his briefly. ‘Do not speak like that. God has preserved you this time. He may do so for many years yet.’

  He drew a long breath. He had been so sure that he had come to the end of his days on earth. It was hard now to consider the future. Dino saved him from having to speak further by returning with a bowl of steaming water.

  Ranulph said, ‘If you will excuse me, I am badly in need of a wash and a change of clothes.’

  ‘Of course.’ She got up, but lingered at the door and he guessed that she was disappointed in their conversation. There was more formality in her tone. ‘Please send to me if there is anything you require.’

  When she had gone Dino helped him to strip off the sweat-stiffened gambeson he wore under his mail, and his ragged braies and filthy hose. He exclaimed at the vivid bruise over his ribs below his right arm, another on his left shoulder and the cuts to his shins. ‘Truly, sir. If it was not for your armour you would be a dead man by now,’ he murmured as he bathed him.

  Ranulph said nothing until he had finished and anointed the bruises with an arnica salve. Then he said, ‘Dino, would you like to go home?’

  ‘Home, sir? Are you thinking of giving up the war?’

  ‘No, not at all. I shall go on as long as God preserves me. I meant you.’

  ‘Me?’ The boy dropped to his knees. ‘Please, sir, don’t send me away! I have served you to the best of my ability, and would continue to do so for as long as the war lasts.’

  Ranulph laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t start crying again. I’m not displeased with you. I have a letter that needs to be taken to a friend in Amalfi. If you wish, you can serve me by taking it, and then you can go home to Sicily. Do you not long to see your family again?’

  ‘No, sir. I shall be glad to see them one day, but not until you return victorious. I would be with you then.’

  ‘We have been through many hardships and there will be more to come yet. You still wish to stay?’

  ‘Yes, sir. All I ask is to stay with you.’

  Ranulph curled his hand round the back of the boy’s neck and gave him an affectionate shake. ‘Then you shall have your wish. And I shall have to find some other means of sending my letter. Now, find me a clean shirt.’

  Marc returned as Ranulph finished dressing and almost stumbled over the two bundles he had left on the floor. ‘What is all this?’

  ‘Have a care! The contents of those are priceless.’

  ‘Priceless? Then you were not too far gone to do a bit of looting for yourself.’

  ‘It’s not what you think. Dino, pass me those bundles.’

  Dino did as he was told and Ranulph carefully untied the silk and spread it out to reveal the contents.

  ‘Books!’ Marc sagged abruptly onto the stool and covered his face with his hands.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Ranulph asked anxiously. ‘Are you more hurt than you said?’

  Marc lifted his head and Ranulph saw that
his cheeks were wet with tears. It took him a moment to realise that his friend was helpless with laughter. Even Dino was suppressing a grin.

  ‘Books!’ Marc spluttered at length. ‘Oh, Ranulph, you are the only man on earth who could come back from a battle carrying, not gold, or silver, but books!’

  ‘Believe me, these are more valuable to me than gold ornaments or jewelled daggers.’ Ranulph took up one of the books and brushed dust from the soft leather binding. ‘See, here? This is the book of the Alamansor by al-Razi. It is one of the standard texts on anatomy in Arab medicine. And this! This is rarer still. The Hundred Books on the Medical Art by Abu-Sahl-al-Masih.’ He looked up at Marc. ‘I couldn’t tell by the light of the moon what was here, but I knew if Kerbogha kept them in his own tent they must be valuable.’

  ‘But what will you do with them?’ Marc asked. ‘You cannot burden yourself with all these when we move on.’

  Ranulph sighed. ‘No, you are right. But there are scholars here in Antioch who will delight in studying them. I shall give them to Ibn Butlan. He will know how to value them.’ He put the books aside. ‘So, what news? What happens now?’

  ‘I suppose we rest here a while, lick our wounds and build up our strength, and then march for Jerusalem.’

  ‘Jerusalem!’ Ranulph whispered the word like a spell. Out of all expectation, the possibility that he might one day walk in the footsteps of Christ had resurfaced in his mind. He brought his thoughts back to the present. ‘What has happened to the men who were holding out in the citadel?’

  ‘They surrendered when they saw Kerbogha had been defeated.’

  Ranulph got up and stretched. ‘I suppose we had better report to Bohemond and see what he requires of us. Did you say no one stopped to loot? It’s not like him to pass up the chance of booty.’

  Marc grinned. ‘Don’t worry. He’s got his men out there now, scouring the Turkish camp – along with the rest of the troops.’