Lionheart's Scribe (3 page)

The fifth day of October

I got into the camp today! And by a very clever ruse. There is a persistent nanny goat that noses around my hut constantly and has been no end of a nuisance to me. She seems to have no owner and is determined to eat what little roof I have left. Early this morning I was awakened by a tremendous commotion over my head and a cloud of dirt and dust falling upon me. I knew it must be the goat. There are a few leaves still on some of the branches that I have patched the holes with, and she has had her eye on them. At first I just lay there and cursed at her. Then I had an idea.

I leaped out of bed and dashed outside, just as she jumped down and tried to escape. I was too quick for her, however. I grabbed her horns and tied her to a spindly tree in front of my hut. She objected mightily, but when I found a handful of straw for her to munch on, she settled down. Then, just at the break of day, I led her out of the city.

“Where are you going, brat?” the guard at the gate demanded when he saw me.

“I have been commissioned to supply someone in the camp with a good milking goat,” I answered as boldly as I could.

“There are goats all over this cursed island,” he said. “Why would anyone want another one?”

Truth, it was a good question and for a moment I was at a loss for words, so I just stood there and looked foolish. Sometimes that is not difficult. The guard glowered at me, but when I still could not come up with an answer, he muttered somethingabout the stupidity of foreigners and the dim-wittedness of boys and waved me through.

As I drew near to the camp I was almost overcome by the noise and by the smells. The city is bad enough, of course, and I am used to it, but this place was worse. Men shouted, women yelled, children screamed. This is an army that travels with a multitude of pilgrims as well as knights and soldiers, and it makes for a mighty disorder. I saw food cooking, but any good smells from the pots were overpowered by the stink of the trenches dug around the camp to serve as latrines. They were already overflowing. A dog snapped at the heels of my little goat and she skittered nervously. I began to wonder just what I was going to do with her. I had used her as an excuse to get into the camp, but I hadn't the vaguest notion of what to do with her now.

Just then a woman called out to me.

“Is that a good milking goat?” she bellowed.

“Oh, yes,” I answered straightaway. Not that I had the slightest idea of whether she was or not, as I have no taste for milk and had never tried to milk her, but it seemed a sensible thing to say.

“I need milk for my little ones. There are goats all around here, but I cannot for the life of me catch one, they are so quick and shy. Will you give me the loan of her for an hour or so? I can offer you some bread and cheese in exchange,” she added.

My stomach growled and decided the issue for me.

“That I will,” I replied. I handed over the rope to her. She, in return, gave me a knob of fresh breadand a chunk of soft new cheese. I left, wolfing the food down in such big bites that I almost choked. I have not eaten so well in months.

I prayed the nanny would cooperate.

Then I set to exploring the camp. I drew as near as I dared to the pavilion of King Richard, but his guards chased me away. I did, however, find the stables where they are keeping the horses. I have always liked horses, but I have never seen any such as these. Compared to our wiry little island ponies these beasts are immense. Their backs are higher than my head, their limbs are like tree trunks and their hooves are bigger than the flat loaves of bread the baker makes. They are all shades, from black, to gray, to dun colored. They have long, tangled manes and tails, and their heads are big and wide.

I slipped in and wandered around amongst them. They did not mind my presence. Some even welcomed me with soft snuffling noises. Horses, it seems, do not fear a crippled boy. The smell of horse hung over everything. I like that smell. It is sharp and pungent and warm.

Then one of the guards saw me. I prepared to run, but he stopped me.

“You, boy,” he called. “Fill those buckets with grain and be quick about it.”

I suppose he thought I was a stable boy. What a piece of luck! I ran to do his bidding.

“Go on, then,” he growled when I had filled the buckets. “Get on with feeding the beasts.”

I must confess I was more than a little nervous when I approached the first horse. It did look big. Iheld the bucket out, ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger. To my surprise and great relief, the animal just swung its heavy head around and stared at me with huge, dark eyes, as if sizing me up, then calmly settled in to eating.

The sun was rising by then and I realized I was going to be late getting to my work with Vulgrin. When the guard's back was turned I slipped out. I hope the real stable boy turned up to carry on with the feeding. I wouldn't like to think of the horses going hungry. Still, I imagine valuable animals like that would not be neglected. Truth, they probably eat better than I do.

I made my way quickly back to the tent where I had left the goat. I hid behind a tree when I got there and watched for a few moments, trying to see if the nanny had been a success or whether it would be wiser not to show my face. The woman was boiling up some sort of stew on the fire and the goat was tied to a bush nearby, munching on the sparse grass. Two infants tumbled around the woman's feet. They were enormously dirty, but seemed content enough, so I made my way forward.

“How was my goat?” I asked as the woman looked up. “Did she satisfy you?”

“She's a marvelous goat,” she answered. “She gave as much milk as we needed and more besides. Can you bring her each morning?”

“That I most certainly can,” I answered, delighted that I now had the means of getting into the camp every day. “I will bring her here for milking every day. In return for bread and cheese,” Iadded quickly. I thought I might as well make the best bargain I could while I was at it.

“So you liked my cheese,” she said. She smiled so hugely that her wide, red face seemed almost to crack in half. “Make it myself, I do.”

“I liked it indeed,” I answered. “It was the best cheese I have ever tasted.” That was no lie, but I did not see fit to tell her that most of the cheese I ate was sour and moldy.

“Well, as long as your little nanny supplies me with milk, I'll give you all the cheese you want,” she said, fair bursting with pride.

“Done,” I said.

I think I have the best of that deal, especially since the goat isn't even mine in the first place.

I untied the nanny and led her out of the camp, very pleased with myself and with her. She seemed like a fine little beast to me now. I even tried to pat her on the head, but she bit me.

“See you tomorrow,” I called cheerily to the guard at the gate as I passed back in.

He shook his head and made another remark about the idiocy of foreigners, but he knows now that I will be passing back and forth and he will not bother me again, I am sure. I will have to go early though, so as not to be late for my work with Vulgrin. Even if I am, I do not care. I want to find out as much as I can about this camp and these crusaders. Perhaps I can feed the horses every day. I like horses. I would like to do that.

I shut the goat in my hut for safety—she is just contrary enough to decide to wander off and desertme now that I have found a use for her—and made my way to the docks to Vulgrin. He gave me a wallop because I was late, but I hardly noticed it.

The seventh day of October

There have been interesting rumors going around the city. Working with Vulgrin down at the harbor has one excellent advantage: I hear all the news.

The arrival of all these armies from the north seems to have unsettled everybody on the island. The crusaders can't seem to understand how we all get along together here—the Arabs with the Greeks, the Normans with the Italians, the Muslims with the Christians. They make no effort to get along with us, I must admit (but only to this journal). Their highhanded ways make the townspeople furious and Vulgrin angriest of all, in spite of the increased work they bring him. I would not give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him about anything though, so I keep my mouth closed. The soldiers seem to have a special dislike for the Greeks amongst us, and the Greeks call them “long-tailed English devils.” To make matters worse King Richard is angry with our King Tancred.

Vulgrin has a friend who likes to sit and gossip with him and I, of course, listen as hard as I can even while I'm pretending not to, and I get all the news that way. According to this fellow King Tancred's father, old King William, was married to King Richard's sister, Joanna. When the old king died, King Tancred imprisoned Queen Joanna in one of his castles and took all her dowry for himself.”

A fortune in gold and jewels,” he said, and I could see his eyes grow big at the thought of it. “But even more important than the dowry to King Richard,” he went on, “is the fact that the old king had promised him many good, sturdy galleys for the crusade, and King Tancred is keeping those to himself as well.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Vulgrin staring avidly at the man, picturing all that treasure, I vow. Neither of them seemed too concerned about the fate of Queen Joanna. I should think King Richard is though. I doubt even the galleys could be more important to him than his own sister.

At that point Vulgrin looked over at me and caught me staring.

“Get on with your work, boy,” he snapped. “These are not matters that concern you.”

But he is wrong. Everything to do with the crusade concerns me. It is all that fills my mind these days.

The twentieth day of October

The mood in King Richard's camp is getting more and more ugly. When I led my little goat in this morning, one of the soldiers spat at me.

“Get out of here, Greek!” he yelled.

“I'm not Greek, I'm English!” I shouted back. It seemed prudent to adopt my mother's nationality today. Still, I made certain to avoid him on my way back.

The first day of November

I am still shaking as I write this. If I ever made as many blots and splotches on a skin that I was writing for Vulgrin as I already have on this one, he would throw me in the sea with a stone around my neck, I'm sure.

I woke yesterday to screams and shouts. People were running back and forth through the streets crying that the long-tailed English devils were coming to murder us all in our beds. I was simpleminded enough to think all the fuss nothing more than a good excuse for not going to work with Vulgrin. I secured my goat and set forth like the greatest of idiots to find out what was going on. Much better had I stayed in my hut and never poked my nose out.

What was going on was that King Richard had finally lost patience. He had attacked the city! At first I could see nothing but our own townspeople milling around, bleating like sheep, then King Tancred's forces stormed down the street where I was making my way. I just managed to shrink back into a doorway as they charged by. They were truly frightening. I have often seen them training, but this was different. They looked half crazed and were screaming war cries as they ran. This was not practice—this was real!

From where I hid I could see the main gate of the city. It was this gate that King Richard and his men were attacking. Even as I watched it gave way with a huge, splintering crash. I saw the king himself drive through at the head of his men, swinging anaxe around his head and shouting just as loudly as any of them. I froze and forgot to breathe.

The two armies met with a roar. I covered my ears and flattened myself back even farther into my nook as spears thudded onto shields, and swords clanged and clashed all around me. My ears rang with the noise—they are ringing still. Then, added to all the terror, I could hear men screaming as the spears thrust home into flesh. There was so much blood! It was like a scene from hell.

The fighting surged toward me, then past, as King Richard's forces fought their way into the city. I have never been so frightened in my life. I would never admit this to anyone, but I will write it down here—when I thought one of the soldiers had seen me and was coming straight toward my hiding place I pissed myself in my panic. He raced by me, however, and I cowered there until the noise of the battle faded into the distant streets.

I will continue writing tomorrow. I cannot think more on it tonight.

The third day of November

It has been a great victory for King Richard. He vanquished our king thoroughly. King Tancred has given in to his every demand, so the gossip goes, and has released Queen Joanna into the English king's care.

“It would have taken longer for a priest to say Matins than it took the king of England to capture Messina,” I heard an old man say.

I am having trouble making sense of all that hashappened, but I will continue writing from where I left off the other night. It is all I can do, and it might help me to sort through my confused thoughts.

It took me more than two hours to reach the safety of my hut. I was forced to duck and hide whenever I saw soldiers approaching. They were hewing and hacking at any person who got in their way, and torching houses. I was worried that my hut would be destroyed, but it was intact. The goat was bleating with fright and had wound her tether ten times around her neck and half-strangled herself, but no soldiers had found this back alley. I boarded up the door and quaked inside, clutching the goat to me for comfort.

It didn't end there.

All the next day and on into the night, King Richard's soldiers plundered and looted, completely out of control. Their commanders made no effort at all to stop them.

I suppose I should feel sympathy for the townspeople and anger at the English king for what he has done to them. I suppose I should feel that these are my people who have been harmed. I do not though. No one on this island has shown me the least bit of kindness in my whole life since my mother and father died. The guards in King Richard's stables treat me better than anyone here ever has. And King Richard had just cause. How could he not have acted to free his own sister?