Shadows on a Sword (11 page)

As soon as they entered the trees, they were forced to rein their mounts in. Soon the bush became too thick for riding, even at a walk. Tossing their horses’ reins to their grooms, the knights dismounted and began to thread their way through, the hounds’ belling drawing them on.

“There! Do you hear it? They have caught up to their prey!” Amalric shouted, at Theo’s shoulder.

The dogs’ crying had changed in note and tone; the barks had become frantic.

“On!” Godfrey cried, and drew his sword. Footmen fanned out as best they could on either side, their halberds and spears hampering them in the dense underbrush. The dogs’ noise grew closer.

Sweat poured into Theo’s eyes, but he was hardly aware of it. He drew his sword and beat back the low-hanging branches of the trees. Without warning, he stumbled into a clearing. The dogs were circling a tree, leaping and snarling. Theo looked up. There, in its branches, dark against the dark background of the forest, was a bear. Theo caught his breath at the size of it. Even from where he stood, it looked larger than any animal he had ever seen. A rank smell hit his nostrils. The bear did not seem frightened. Its eyes, small in the enormous head, were fixed on the mad animals beneath it with what seemed to be contempt.

“Call off the dogs!” The duke’s order rang out, but the dogs were beyond hearing, let alone obeying. Two of the animal trainers stepped forward with whips and began laying about them in the pack. Godfrey moved forward impatiently, hitting at the nearest hound with the flat of his sword. At that instant, the bear jumped.

As the huge animal hurtled out of the branches above him, Godfrey threw himself to one side. The bear landed a sword’s length away from him. It hesitated for a moment, as if confused, turned toward the prostrate duke and raised itself up on its hind legs to its full height. Godfrey was on his feet in an instant. His sword flashed. At the same moment, every man in the party surged forward. The closest to the duke was Guy. He slashed at the bear with his sword and hit it on the shoulder, drawing blood. The bear whirled, unbelievably graceful for a creature of its size. Godfrey took advantage of its movement to thrust with his sword, and the blade sank deep into its side. The bear whirled back and, with one swipe of its forepaw, sent Godfrey spinning. Guy struck again. Theo and Amalric closed in beside him, adding their blows to his. The bear roared and lashed out with first one, and then the other of its massive paws. Theo had an overwhelming impression of teeth, the flying froth of saliva and a red, cavernous mouth. The bear’s roar paralyzed him for an instant, and then he struck again. Another blow from the bear’s paw felled Guy. He lay, stunned, as the bear turned toward him. Theo took a step forward and straddled the fallen knight, protecting him. With his sword, he struck the bear just above its eyes. The animal lunged for him. At that moment, a spear hurled by one of Godfrey’s men whistled past Theo’s shoulder and buried itself deep in the animal’s chest. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The bear stood, immobile. As Theo drew back his arm to strike again, the animal crumpled to the ground.

Blood was everywhere. Guy groaned, then raised himself to his knees and shook his head as Theo stepped back from him. Duke Godfrey lay ominously still. His men ran to him. It was impossible to tell how much of the blood on him and around him was his, and how much was the bear’s. Amalric and the rest of his party slid a cloak under the duke and raised him carefully. Guy stood for a second, still trying to clear his head. He looked at Theo. For a minute, Theo thought he was going to say something, but then he shook his head again and joined the party of men carrying the duke.

There was feasting that night in Godfrey’s camp. Great chunks of bear roasted over every fire. Godfrey was not seriously injured, although his wounds were substantial. The bear’s claws had raked his chest in deep grooves. A healer had bound the gashes as well as he could, but the duke was too weak and in too much pain to participate in the celebration. Theo and Amalric, however, wolfed down their share of the hot, greasy meat. When he had stuffed himself to the point of nausea, Theo tossed his last bone to the hounds that skulked around their feet, and sank back beside the fire with a sigh of contentment. As he did so, he caught sight of Guy sitting on the other side, glaring at him through the firelight.

“Guy does not look overly grateful for the favor I did him today,” Theo said to Amalric, trying to make his voice light.

“It was the worst thing you could have done,” Amalric replied. He wiped the grease from his chin. “He is a twisted sort. I truly think he would rather have died than have you save him.”

T
hey took water with them when they left Iconium, well rested and eager once again, but the valley through which they now traveled was fertile and flowing with streams. Almost at once, they ran into a Turkish army led by the Emir Hassan. Bohemond led the attack and the outnumbered Turks retreated without resistance. The crusaders fired off a comet that night in celebration. Theo and Amalric watched it streak through the blackness, shedding sparks.

“An omen,” Amalric said. “We shall have nothing but victories from now on.”

And so it seemed. As the summer wore on, the crusaders forged ahead, defeating the Turkish troops wherever they encountered them. They followed the road through Caesarea, but Baldwin, with some of the Flemish knights and the Lorrainers, split from the main party and crossed into Cilicia.

“He’s after more gains for himself, of course,” was Emma’s scornful comment. “It galls him to share his spoils with all the rest of the crusaders.”

“How do you and Lady Godvere manage without him?” Theo asked.

“Perfectly well,” Emma retorted. “We have the servants to help us, and a groom. It is a relief not to have him around.”

By the end of September, with the summer heat abating somewhat, they reached Caesarea to find it deserted by the Turks.

“Our good fortune holds,” Theo remarked one evening, sitting by the campfire with Amalric.

“Good fortune has nothing to do with it,” Amalric responded. “We are invincible. Nothing can stand in our way.”

Theo laughed. The battles they had fought together had forged their friendship fast. There was, however, one great difference between them. After each battle, the blood lust lived on in Amalric until he had worked it out with riotous celebration. In this, he was like most of the other men. With Theo, it was different. In the wildness of battle, he was one with Amalric, but when the fighting was over, there was always a time of sickness. A time during which he had to be alone. Amalric could not understand. He had teased, cajoled and even tried to shame Theo into joining the carousing that followed each battle, but to no avail. Finally, he had shrugged his shoulders and given up.

“I know you are among the bravest of us all,” he said. “You should be one of the most eager to make merry.”

“I cannot explain it,” was Theo’s only response, and Amalric was finally forced to relent. To Theo himself, his sickness after battles was a gnawing, secret worry.

In October, the rains began. The mountains they had been following now loomed ahead of them, their towering peaks already snow-capped. They rose to heights higher than many had seen before.

“We are to cross
those
?” For once, Amalric seemed taken aback as Theo drew up beside him and they paused to contemplate what lay before them.

“So it would seem,” Theo answered.

The way they followed could not really be called a road. It quickly turned into no more than a muddy path that led up steep inclines and skirted terrifying precipices. As they climbed higher, the mud became icy. The pilgrims shivered and slipped on the treacherous slopes. No one dared to ride. First one horse slipped and fell over the edge, then another, and yet another. A whole line of baggage animals, roped together, fell and dragged each other down into the abyss that yawned at their side. Heavily armored knights began to unburden themselves. At first, they offered their arms and equipment for sale to any who would buy. Then, in desperation, as the way grew ever steeper, some merely threw them away. Men following behind could pick up whatever they wished, but few did. It was only too apparent that the more lightly they traveled, the better were their chances.

“These mountains are cursed!” The words were muttered up and down the line, and indeed the crusaders were losing more men through accidents than they had in all the battles so far. The pilgrims at the end of the procession fared even worse. Carts and wagons were either abandoned or lost to the depths below; people kept only what they could carry on their backs. There was no stopping, not even for a rest; the rain was fast turning to sleet, and snow was on the way. They had to make the crossing before it came.

Theo led Centurion, leaving William to deal with the palfrey and the groom’s own nag. He had fastened his weapons and his chain mail onto the charger’s saddle. If Centurion slipped and was lost, lost as well would be all that Theo owned; but Centurion was proving to be amazingly sure-footed in his own heavy, plodding way. Suddenly, Theo heard a cry behind him. He turned just in time to see the hindquarters of William’s nag sag beneath him and slide over the edge of the path. To his horror, Theo saw that William had, against all advice, mounted the horse. The groom had complained unendingly about the need to walk ever since the climb had begun and, it would seem, had at last given in to the temptation to ride. Before Theo could move, the horse tumbled off the edge of the precipice. William uttered one short scream, and then there was silence. Appalled, Theo looked over the edge, but thick trees below masked any sign of horse or rider. Theo’s palfrey, reins trailing, stood listlessly at the spot where William had gone over. Theo had no time to try to see any farther. The horse was blocking the trail; men and animals on the path below were beginning to back up.

“Move on up there!” a rough voice shouted. “No stopping on the trail!”

Theo reached over, grabbed the palfrey’s reins and moved forward, leading the two animals. It had all happened so suddenly. He bowed his head into the driving sleet and urged the horses on. He had not liked William very much, but they had marched together, shared meals together for over a year now. It was unthinkable that he could be gone—that from one moment to the next, he could just cease to exist.

Theo stumbled and caught himself just as one foot slipped toward the edge of the path. Centurion snorted as if indignant at his clumsiness. Theo shook the rain out of his eyes and focused all his senses on the task of leading the two horses safely. Finally, the path evened out and they began to descend.

On a wet, cold afternoon, just before darkness overtook them, the leading knights and their entourages emerged from the pass into the valley that surrounded Marash. The Armenian population there, under their prince, Thatoul, came out to meet them in a joyous welcome. As he tethered the horses and unpacked his tent, Theo looked back at the mountains. Streams of exhausted pilgrims still trickled down to the plain below where tents were starting to rise and fires starting to flicker. Hundreds more were on the crossing behind them. Night was falling fast, and the sleet had turned to snow. He could see it driving whitely across the dark trees on the mountainside. Theo’s breath steamed into the wintry air. He rubbed his chilled hands together to warm them. How many more would perish before they reached this side of the mountains?

As soon as he could, Theo searched out Baldwin’s camp. He was worried about Emma. How had she and the Lady Godvere survived the crossing? As he approached their tents, he heard the sounds of a child wailing, a high-pitched, keening noise that seemed to go on and on. He was surprised to see no sign of a fire.

“Emma?” he called out. When there was no answer, he made for the tent where the child was crying.

As he pulled open the flap, he gasped, and drew back at the smell. Then he took a deep breath and pushed his way in. The two boys lay on blankets. Beside them, the girl sat, hair tangled over her face and down her shoulders, wailing. Godvere lay on another blanket, breathing heavily; her wide, flat face shone with sweat. Emma knelt, bathing her forehead with a rag soaked in water. She looked up as Theo came in.

“What has happened?” Theo asked.

“They are all ill. Godvere is the sickest right now, although the children are worsening quickly. They took a chill during the crossing and are now all burning with fever.”

“And you?”

“I am well, thanks be to God. But the crossing was terrible. We lost our wagon.”

“Why do you not have a fire? Where are the servants?”

Emma shrugged. “I know not. One perished when the wagon went over. The others disappeared as soon as my lady and the children took ill. Our groom helped to raise the tents, and then he also left. I think they fear the fever.”

“Have you eaten?”

“There has not been time.”

“I’ll make a fire for you. Do you have food for a broth?”

“Yes. A woman was here from the village. A kind woman. She brought vegetables and bread, but she wouldn’t stay. She, too, was afraid.” Emma gestured toward a basket by the door flap.

“I’ll make a soup for you, then.”

“You cannot …”

“I most certainly can. I am an excellent cook. It was necessary to learn rather than eat the messes William prepared—” He stopped. William’s cry echoed again in his mind.

Within the hour, he had made a nourishing soup, supplementing it with meat from his own stores. He brought a bowl in to Emma and helped her feed it to the children. The boys were too weak to take more than a few sips. The girl drank greedily, then fell into a heavy sleep that was more like a stupor. They could not raise Godvere sufficiently to get her to taste even a mouthful. Her breathing was rapidly getting more labored, and her breath was foul. Each snoring breath was followed by a lull that threatened to be her last.

“They have sent to Cilicia for Lord Baldwin,” Emma said when they had done what they could for Godvere and the children, and were sitting together beside the fire. Emma held a bowl thick with vegetables and meat in her hands. As she ate, color began to come back to her pale, drawn face. “But he is busy conquering territory to lay up for himself, I hear, and I would not be surprised if he did not bother to come.” She looked at the bowl of soup in her hands, then back up at Theo. “I thank you, Theo,” she said. “You are a good friend to me. My only friend here, I fear.”