God's Warrior

by Hilary Green

  ‘My lord Tancred! The mosque! Count Raymond’s men are there. They are killing the people.’

  Tancred whirled round. ‘Back to the mosque! By God I’ll murder anyone who has disobeyed my orders.’

  They raced back through the streets and found the Temple Mount seething with men from Raymond’s army, though the Count himself was nowhere to be seen. One of the men Tancred had left on guard ran up to him, white faced.

  ‘Sire, we could do nothing. There are too many of them. They are mad for booty.’

  The inside of the mosque was a scene from hell. The bodies of men, women and children lay everywhere and blood was splashed on the pillars and trickling along the tiled floor. Ranulph stood staring, unable to comprehend the bestial cruelty before him. As he watched, a soldier approached the body of a woman who lay face down on the ground. He grabbed her arm and yanked her over onto her back, then pulled her skirts up to her face. Ranulph started forward to prevent an obscene act, but what happened next was worse, if possible. The man produced his dagger and slit the woman’s body from crotch to breastbone, then thrust his hand into the bleeding interior.

  Ranulph grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him upright. ‘What, in the name of God, are you about? How dare you defile the bodies of the dead like this?’

  The man bared his teeth in a grin. ‘They swallow their valuables to keep them safe, as they think. But we know their tricks.’ He opened his fist and showed it empty, except for a gory pulp. ‘Not this one, though!’ He spat. ‘Bitch!’

  They were his last words. Ranulph seized his dagger, and drove the weapon into his stomach. As the man collapsed, choking, Ranulph turned aside and sank to his knees on the bloody floor and vomited.

  When his gut had voided itself in a series of wrenching spasms he got to his feet and stumbled towards the door. Behind him he could hear Tancred shouting but he did not turn back. No power on earth would have forced him back into that hell hole. He pulled off his gloves and looked at his hands. They were covered in blood and the need to clean himself overwhelmed every other desire. He remembered that somewhere outside the mosque there would be water for the ritual purification required before prayers. The day was almost over and the light was fading as he hobbled round the building until he found a fountain which filled a large circular pool. He dropped on his knees beside it and thrust his arms into the water, watching the blood float away in threads and curls. He splashed his face and pulled off his helmet and used it to tip water over his head. Then, oblivious to the demands of self-preservation, he stood up, bent and allowed his hauberk to slide over his head onto the ground. Stripping off his gambeson and his tunic he stood naked to the waist and sluiced himself with cold water.

  The douche brought him to his senses. He picked up his tunic and dried himself as well as he could, then began to get dressed. As he picked up his hauberk something fell to the ground – a creased and folded packet. For a moment he could not remember how it came there. Then it came back to him. He broke the seal and read:

  To my dear friend and brother.

  I fear this letter brings you heavy tidings. Mariam, your wife and my beloved sister, is dead in childbirth, and the child, a boy, too early born to survive. Her women and, in the later stages, Master Ibn Butlan did everything in their power to save them, but to no avail. I have taken the children into my home and will care for them as if they were my own. Also, I have taken into my safe-keeping the gold you ordered to be sent from Italy. I will look after all these until, God willing, you return to Antioch.

  May the Lord bless you and grant success to your noble quest.

  Your loving friend and brother-in-law, Firouz.

  How he came to be in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre Ranulph could not recall, but he found himself kneeling in a dark corner. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings. The church was full of men, most of them still in armour. Some were kneeling, some prostrate in front of the altar, others standing and gazing about them in awe. Many were in tears. Priests were moving about, preparing for a service, and the air was heavy with incense. The sound of murmured prayers echoed under the vaulted ceiling and then, from somewhere at the back of the church, someone began to sing the Te Deum.

  We praise Thee, oh God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord …

  Nearby, Ranulph could hear someone intoning the Ave Maria but he could find no words. The paean of gratitude and rejoicing which should have greeted the climax of all his efforts was choked by the tightness in his throat. No prayers or supplication could alter what had happened. No visions of blessing could wipe out the image of that woman’s body. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, that picture had become confused with the news about Mariam. Had they ripped her body to try to deliver the child? How much had she suffered?

  The Mass began, an outpouring of praise from the throats of men who had fought and suffered for three long years. Raising his eyes as a procession entered, Ranulph saw Godfrey and Tancred in the midst of it. Raymond was with them and Ranulph was tempted to shout out that he had no business to be there amongst the honoured leaders, but the weight of his despair kept him silent. As the congregation began to speak the General Confession he found at last an echo of his own feelings and the Kyrie Eleison released the tears he had not been able to shed, but for the rest of the service he lapsed back into numbness.

  The service ended and little by little the church emptied. Ranulph stayed where he was. In the enclosed space it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night, but from the silence he guessed it to be the latter. He stretched himself out on the cold flagstones aware, dimly, that he had not eaten for more than twenty-four hours, but the fact had no significance. After a time he drifted into a state somewhere between sleep and waking, in which the horror of the scene inside the mosque brought back again the memory of the painting of the Last Judgement which had haunted his childhood, and once again he saw himself as the rider on the pale horse.

  Marc’s voice roused him at last. ‘Ranulph! God be praised! I have been searching for you everywhere. When I could not find you among the living I began to search among the dead. What are you doing here?’

  Ranulph raised his head but his throat was so dry that he could not speak. Marc knelt and hauled him into a semi-recumbent position, supporting him against his knee. ‘What has happened to you? Are you wounded? Where are you hurt?’

  Ranulph shook his head and tried to twist away.

  ‘What is it?’ Marc’s voice was harsh with anxiety. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ Ranulph produced an inarticulate croak and Marc went on, ‘When did you last drink? Here!’ He produced a flask from his belt and held it to Ranulph’s lips. He allowed a few drops to trickle into his throat, then turned his head away.

  Marc shook him. ‘Tell me what has happened to you. Why are you hiding here?’

  Ranulph dragged himself into a sitting position and looked at him. ‘You saw what happened in the mosque.’

  ‘I saw – and it was horrible. But it was not your fault.’

  ‘I should have stayed there, on guard. I was so eager to come here …’

  ‘There was nothing you could have done. Raymond’s men would have killed you if you had tried to stop them.’

  ‘Better so.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that. Why should you think that?’

  Ranulph unclenched his fist and found that the letter was there. Wordlessly he held it out to Marc, who read it and made a sound between an oath and a sob.

  ‘Merciful God, how could You have permitted this? Ranulph, what can I say? I am so, so sorry.’ He paused, then went on, ‘But in this, as in all things, we must submit to the will of the Almighty. Lying here is no remedy. You must come with me and eat and drink. Our great purpose is accomplished. Jerusalem is again in Christian hands. You must cling to that.’

  Again Ranulph shook his head. ‘I will stay here until it pleases God to take my soul. Perhaps I can make some small atonement for the wrongs we have done here.’

  ‘You
have done no wrong!’ Marc’s tone was growing desperate. ‘You have nothing to atone for.’

  ‘Our Lord had done no wrong, but His sacrifice wiped away our sins.’

  ‘And you think you can do the same? Ranulph, that is blasphemy!’

  ‘I thought I was doing God’s will. I believed I had been called to this task, but how could He have willed this destruction of the innocent? I have erred, and the death of Mariam is my punishment.’

  Marc tried a little longer to persuade him, but he turned his head away and remained obstinately silent. Eventually Marc got to his feet. ‘Very well. If you will not come of your own accord, I shall fetch men to carry you.’

  Ranulph drew his dagger. ‘Do that, and I will kill the first man to touch me, and then myself.’

  Marc gazed at him for a moment in despair. Then he turned away and left the church.

  Time passed. Ranulph did not know how much. He had drifted once again into semi-consciousness when he was roused by movement close by. Opening his eyes he saw Marc stooping over him, and by his side a man in the robes of a monk.

  ‘Ranulph,’ Marc said gently, ‘this is Brother Gerard. He is the superintendent of the hospital here.’

  ‘I do not require a hospital,’ Ranulph croaked. ‘I am not injured.’

  ‘I am very happy to hear that,’ Gerard said, ‘because that makes it easier for me to ask you a favour. Marc tells me that you have some knowledge of medicine.’

  Ranulph looked at him. He had the face of an ascetic, lean and hollow cheeked, but there was something in the large, clear eyes that inspired confidence. It was more than that. Ranulph struggled to bring a memory to the forefront of his mind.

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘Yes. My name is Gerard Tonque and I was born in Amalfi. In my early years I was a merchant there, as you were. But to my request. As your friend Sir Marc said, I am in charge of the hospital here, which was set up to care for pilgrims to the Holy City. Now, after the fighting, we are overwhelmed with casualties - soldiers from your army and local inhabitants. I have very few helpers and most of them have very little medical knowledge. Will you offer your services?’

  Ranulph looked from him to Marc and understood that his friend had sought out the one man in Jerusalem who might persuade him to choose life rather than death. Gratitude fought with despair in his soul. He turned his face away. ‘I fear I can be of little use to you. My knowledge is small and only from books ….’

  ‘I have heard otherwise.’

  ‘I am not fit … I carry too heavy a burden of guilt …’

  ‘I understand from Sir Marc that you feel yourself in some way responsible for the murders that have taken place ..’

  ‘I have told him that is nonsense,’ Marc broke in. ‘There was nothing he could have done to stop them.’

  ‘It is not that,’ Ranulph blurted out. ‘It is that I feel there is a sickness in the whole human race. It would be better if we were all to be blotted out in a new flood …’

  He subsided into silence. Gerard said quietly, ‘Do you think Our Lord would have sacrificed himself for our sins if He had believed that? In His life He made it his mission to heal the sick. If you wish to make reparation for the evils that have been done here, is that not a better way to do it than by uselessly throwing away the gift of life?’ He paused and Ranulph felt as if his scrutiny was probing his very soul. ‘I am offering you a way forward. A way of atoning for any sins you may feel you have committed and dedicating yourself to the service of God by caring for his people. Is that not a worthy ambition?’

  Ranulph hesitated a moment longer. Then he held out his hand to Marc. ‘Will you help me up? I don’t think I can stand on my own.’

  The Christians were not allowed to enjoy their victory for long. Within days the Fatimid army of al-Afdal Shahanshah was upon them. Ranulph was still in no condition to fight, but Marc rode out with Godfrey of Bouillon and his knights to give battle. Not long afterwards he walked into the hospital of the Order of St John and found Brother Gerard poring over a medical treatise in the small room which served as his office. The monk looked up with a smile.

  ‘Sir Marc! I am delighted to see you. You are returned victorious, and unhurt I hope.’

  ‘I am, thanks be to God.’

  ‘And al-Afdal has fled?’

  ‘He is even now on the way back to Egypt with what remains of his army.’

  ‘I heard that his forces were completely routed.’

  ‘How could it be otherwise, when we were led into battle by a relic of the True Cross.’

  Gerard nodded. ‘It was a miracle that such a precious relic was preserved from the Muslims until such time as it could be handed over to a godly man fit to protect it. I hear Duke Godfrey has taken the title of Advocate of the Holy Sepulchre.’

  ‘No one is more suited. He is a truly noble man, and a great leader.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Gerard nodded.

  ‘Tell me, how is Ranulph?’

  ‘He makes good progress. For some days he seemed sunk into such a profound sadness that I feared for him, but I think it stemmed mainly from exhaustion, both of body and spirit. Good food and rest, and I like to believe the company of kindred spirits, has restored him, and now he devotes himself to the service of the sick and is a great help to me and to all of us. He has as good a knowledge of medicine as any of the doctors employed here.’

  ‘That is good news indeed. May I see him?’

  ‘Of course. You will find him in the wards somewhere. It will give him great joy to see you safely returned.’

  Ranulph was bending over the bed of a young man whose face was swathed in bandages. He straightened up at Marc’s approach and embraced him warmly.

  ‘You’re back! I have prayed for your safe return.’

  ‘And your prayers have been answered. And you? You look better.’

  ‘ I am. You were right. This is a better way to make reparation for the damage we have done. Tell me about the battle.’

  ‘We captured some of al-Afdal’s scouts and they were … persuaded … to disclose his whereabouts. We attacked before dawn. The Egyptians had not posted enough sentries, thinking themselves safe for the moment, I suppose, and we drove straight into the middle of their camp. We captured al-Afdal’s personal standard and came close to capturing the man himself. The rest of his army broke and ran. Some of them climbed trees hoping to hide from us, others grovelled on their knees for mercy. Al-Afdal himself fled and is on his way back to Egypt.’

  ‘A great victory then! And now Jerusalem is safe in Christian hands. Godfrey will do well as Advocate. Better him than Raymond.’

  ‘What did you make of that? Is it true Raymond refused the offer of the crown?’

  ‘How could he not? As he said, no man could call himself King of Jerusalem but Christ Himself.’

  ‘Perhaps we have misjudged him and his ambition truly ended at liberating the city.’

  ‘I think he was out-smarted by Arnulf and the rest of the northern clerics. They knew he could not accept that title without being accused of overweening pride. Once he refused it, the way was open for Duke Godfrey to take the more modest one of Advocate.’

  ‘So now, with Arnulf himself appointed Patriarch, the northern French are in control and the Provençals have no choice but to go home.’

  ‘They will not be the only ones disappointed in the result. The link with the eastern church and with Constantinople is broken. Alexios may be regretting the day he begged Pope Urban to raise a Frankish army to restore his eastern possessions.’

  ‘Well, that may be. But at least we two have achieved what we set out to do. We have walked the streets where Christ walked and knelt in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.’

  Ranulph nodded gravely. ‘We have. But now, what will you do? Will you go home?’

  Marc shook his head with a smile. ‘No. Having striven so hard to get here I intend to stay. Duke Godfrey has made me one of his household knights.’

  ‘That is excell
ent news. We shall still see each other.’

  ‘You do not intend to return to Antioch, then?’

  ‘No. There is nothing there for me now. I have written to Firouz, asking him to take care of Mariam’s children and giving him the use of the gold I sent for their education. He will do well by them, I know.’

  ‘Then come and join me. Godfrey would welcome you as one of his knights, I’m sure.’

  Ranulph shook his head. ‘My fighting days are over. I have seen enough slaughter. I am happier healing wounds than giving them. Gerard has it in mind to create a monastic order dedicated to the care of the sick and the protection of pilgrims. I shall join him in that aspiration.’

  Marc studied his face for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘You are right. Healing comes naturally to you. Will you take holy orders?’

  ‘Probably. I am considering it.’

  A young man came hastily down the ward. ‘Sir, Brother Gerard has need of you in the next room.’

  Marc turned to him with an exclamation of delight. ‘Dino! I have been worrying about you. When the camp was cleared no one seemed to know where you had gone.’

  ‘He found me here,’ Ranulph said with a smile. ‘I believe no hound could have tracked me down so fast. And Fernando is here too, working in the kitchens.’

  ‘So you will stay with your master?’ Marc asked. ‘You do not want to go home?’

  ‘My home is with Sir Ranulph,’ the boy replied. ‘Besides, who else is going to look after Brand?’

  ‘You have brought Brand with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Marc grinned at Ranulph. ‘You still keep your warhorse, then?’

  ‘I may have need of him yet, one day. Who knows? Besides, I’ve never fancied riding a mule. Forgive me, Marc. I’m needed.’

  Marc watched him hurrying away and saw that he limped slightly. He turned to Dino.

  ‘Take good care of him. He says his fighting days are over but I wouldn’t count on it. If the need ever arises he will still be a doughty warrior for God.’