Shadows on a Sword (13 page)

Godfrey signaled to his followers to halt, as Bohemond and the other leaders spread out along the wall toward the mountain. It was immediately obvious that they could not surround the city as they had Nicaea. It was also immediately obvious that taking Nicaea had been child’s play compared to the battle ahead. And yet, Antioch had to be defeated; take it they must. If they left it as a Turkish bastion, they were leaving themselves open to attack from behind as they continued on to Jerusalem.

Besides, Antioch was one of the most important Christian cities. St. Peter had preached here, and the followers of Christ had been proclaimed “Christians” for the first time within these walls. There was still a large Christian community in the city, led by a patriarch of the church. It was imperative that they reclaim Antioch. But, looking at those massive, silent fortifications, Theo felt a creeping doubt within him. How was this to be done? He settled himself deeper into his saddle and stared at the city before him. Even Amalric had fallen silent.

Godfrey’s army was deployed around the northern gate, on level ground with the Orontes River behind it. Bohemond took up a key position facing the eastern gate on the road they had taken from the Iron Bridge. They guessed that reinforcements for the city, if any were needed, would come this way. Robert of Flanders and Stephen of Blois watched over the remaining gate on this side, flanked by Raymond of Toulouse and Bishop Adhemar. There were two other gates, one that faced west, and the main river gate where a stone bridge crossed the Orontes; but the crusaders did not have enough men to guard them as well. This meant that the Turks within the city still had access to the western road that led to the sea.

“This siege will be a long one, my son,” Count Garnier said, as they set up their tents.

At first, the footsore crusaders settled down with relief. As October passed into November and the weather became even cooler, they were grateful for the rest. The surroundings of Antioch were fertile and the vegetation abundant. There were fields of grain, grape vines everywhere, and trees bent down with the weight of oranges, lemons, figs and other fruit. Herds of cattle roamed freely; the soldiers killed them indiscriminately and ate only the choicest cuts of meat, throwing away the rest to the dogs. Horses grazed on what seemed to be limitless fodder. Every morning, the priests gave thanks for God’s abundance and mercy. But within weeks, the thousands of hungry mouths had taken their toll, and detachments of the army had to be sent out to scavenge in the surrounding countryside. Still, no plans were made for storming the city.

“This cannot go on.” Theo strode furiously into his campsite late one evening. “Our leaders wrangle among themselves and come to no decisions. And while we sit and do nothing, the Turks are brazenly going back and forth through the river gate and the western gate whenever they please.” He paused. “What are you doing to that horse?”

Emma looked up from the shadows at the edge of the fire where she was tending Centurion. “Scratching his stomach,” she answered complacently. “He loves a good belly tickle now and then.” The hulking charger was standing with his head down, snuffling with contentment.

“He is a warhorse, not a puppy dog,” Theo said irritably.

Emma quirked an eyebrow. She was about to make a sharp retort when a rustle in the bushes silenced her. Quickly, she lowered her head and drew her hood down over her eyes. She began to brush Centurion.

A figure stumbled out of the bushes.

“To me, Otto,” he mumbled, voice sodden and blurry with drink. He staggered toward Emma.

“You are mistaken, sir,” Theo said, advancing to ward him off. “This is not your camp.”

“You! What are you doing here?” The figure straightened and glared at Theo.

With a shock, Theo recognized Guy.

“This is not your campsite,” he repeated, his voice cold. “You are mistaken.”

Guy stumbled over a root and fell flat. He reached out and grasped Emma’s foot.

“You, boy, help me up,” he commanded.

Emma wrested her foot from his grasp and stepped back.

“I said, help me!” Guy commanded. He got to his knees. Emma still made no move toward him.

“Is this how you train your minions?” Guy demanded, pulling himself up by Centurion’s halter. The horse snorted, as if insulted, and side-stepped away from him. Guy swayed and caught Emma by the shoulder. She wrenched herself out of his grasp, sending him stumbling forward into Centurion’s hindquarters. Centurion kicked out angrily, grazing Guy’s shin. If the blow had landed squarely, it would have broken his leg.

With an oath, Guy swung out and hit Emma full across the side of the head. He raised his hand to strike again, but she was too quick for him. She dodged out of his reach, but in that second her hood fell back. For a moment, he stared at her, her face illuminated by the flickering firelight.

“You’re pretty for a boy,” he began, and then his brow furrowed. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Familiar,” he muttered. “You look …”

Emma darted off into the darkness. Guy stood, still swaying, looking after her. He turned to Theo.

“Your groom has a familiar look to him. Where did you get him?” His speech was less slurred; the effort of thinking seemed to be clearing his head.

“He is Armenian, from Marash. There are many lads there who have his looks,” Theo said quickly. He made a move toward Guy. “May I help you?” he asked, controlling his voice with an effort. It had taken all of his will not to lash out at Guy when he had struck Emma.

“I need no help from you,” Guy retorted, drawing himself up. He took a step away from the campfire, and halted. He looked into the darkness where Emma had disappeared, then back at Theo. “There is something amiss here,” he began. But the thickness was back in his voice. He shook his head again, passed his hand across his eyes and staggered away.

“S
iege engines, that’s what we need. Good strong catapults to lob stones at the walls. You should advise Duke Godfrey to start building them at once. Ouch!”

“Hold still.” Theo was bathing Emma’s forehead where an angry, purple bruise was forming. “I do not
advise
the duke on anything. He does not listen to anyone as unimportant as I.” Theo was fuming at Guy’s cruelty, but knew there was nothing he could do. Knights cuffed grooms regularly. If he made any kind of protest, he would only draw attention to Emma, and that he dared not do—especially since Guy had already sensed something unusual about her. Emma herself seemed to have taken the matter in her stride.

“And how does it come to pass that you consider yourself such an expert on war?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“I have good ears. I listen.”

“Perhaps the emperor will send us siege engines. He knows how things stand here and he is pledged to help us.”

Emma snorted and tossed her head. The sodden cloth that Theo was using to bathe her forehead went flying.

“I wouldn’t waste time waiting for his help,” she said. “He hasn’t done much for us so far. I think he is glad to see us gain back his lands for him, but he is not about to put himself in peril. That’s what the talk around the campfires is, anyway. Perhaps my lord Raymond is right. He advocates attacking at once. God has protected us so far; surely he would give us victory over these heathen. It must gall Him immensely to see this holy city of His so desecrated.”

“So now you speak for our Father Himself?” Theo cast a cautious glance around as he bent to retrieve the cloth. The talk verged on blasphemy. He quickly changed the subject. “You should not skulk around campfires. You might be discovered.” Emma seemed to be getting more and more independent since transforming herself into a man, and worry made him sound like an over-anxious parent.

“How else should I know what is going on? I cannot converse with anyone or ask questions.”

“I will tell you what you need to know.” A mistake, and Theo realized it at once.

Emma arched an eyebrow, then winced. “It may be that you do not always know what
I
need to know.”

Theo let out a grunt of exasperation. Living with Emma as his groom was presenting him with more complications than he had imagined. He was about to reply when yet another rustle in the bushes silenced him. He signaled to Emma and she quickly drew her hood back over her eyes. Theo turned toward the noise.

A man emerged. Theo reached for the dagger at his waist.

“Stay! Do not fear me! I am a Christian!” The man spoke the Frankish language of Godfrey and his people with difficulty.

“Who are you? Where are you from?” Theo’s hand stayed on the haft of his weapon.

“From Antioch. Many of us have slipped out of the city this night. I have come with my wife and babe.” He nodded to the shadows behind him, where Theo could just make out the figure of a woman holding a child in her arms.

“Take me to your lord, I pray you. I would speak with him.”

“Your name?”

“Arnulf, my lord. Arnulf of Antioch.”

Theo hesitated, then made his decision. “Come then. I will take you to my father, Count Garnier. But I warn you, if you mean any ill, he is well protected. You will not escape.”

Not taking his eyes off the man, Theo reached out his right arm. Emma hastened to retrieve his sword from the tent and handed it to him. He buckled it on. As far as he could see, the man from Antioch was not armed, but Theo would take no chances.

He directed the way to the count’s tent, keeping close behind Arnulf and his family. At the flap of the tent, he spoke to the halberdier on guard, a man Theo had known since his youth.

“I would speak with the count, Reynald. This man has something to say to him.” He motioned to Arnulf to wait, then eased himself inside.

Count Garnier sat on a chest, a plank drawn up before him, supported by two other chests. He was peering at a crudely drawn map of the city of Antioch and its surroundings. He sat in a flickering pool of light given off by a burning wick floating in a dish of oil. The rest of the tent was in darkness. The smell of the lamp filled the tent, and smoke pricked at Theo’s eyes. The count looked up as Theo came in.

“We must have a bridge of our own over this river if we are to receive any supplies from the coast,” the count said. “What do you think, son, of building a bridge of boats?”

“Of boats?” Theo echoed, startled. “How could such a thing be done?” A bridge was necessary, he knew. The Orontes River ran from east to west at this point, and they were camped on the southern side of it, between it and the city walls. The only bridge across the river was at the western end of the city, where the Turks had control. The sea lay to the west, and the road to it was across the river. If the emperor did send supplies—
when
the emperor did send supplies, Theo corrected his thoughts immediately—there had to be a way across the river to the crusaders’ encampments. But a bridge of boats? With a shake of his head, he brought his mind back to why he had come.

“There is a man outside, my lord. His name is Arnulf. He says he is a Christian from the city. He would like to speak with you.”

Count Garnier looked up quickly. “Good!” he exclaimed. “News from within the walls would be invaluable. Bring him in, Theo, I would hear what he has to say, although I do not harbor much trust for these Byzantine Christians. They are a tricky lot. I have been warned.”

Theo leaned out and signaled to the man. Arnulf slipped through the tent flap and stood before the count, head bowed. Even so, his hair brushed the ceiling. He was a big man; his shoulders were heavily muscled, and muscles rippled down his arms as well. His hands were large and splayed, worn and hardened by work.

“I am a blacksmith,” he said. “Would you have use for me in your camp? My family and I do not want to stay longer in the city, although it has been my home since birth.”

“By all means,” Count Garnier replied. “We would welcome your services. But tell me, what are conditions like in the city, and why do you want to leave it?”

“Yaghi-Siyan has been a good governor, and fair to the Christian community within his walls, up to now. Since their conquest of this city, the Turks have been just rulers, but with your arrival, things have changed. I fear for what is to come, and I would like to help you. The thought of returning Antioch to the fold of God gives me great delight.”

“In what way have things changed since our arrival?” Count Garnier asked. “From our vantage point here, nothing has occurred at all.”

“From here, perhaps, it looks peaceful and quiet, but within there are stirrings.”

“Tell us,” the count commanded. “I would know what is going on inside the walls.”

“We Christians have been well treated by the governor up to now,” Arnulf repeated. His accent was heavy and he searched for words with difficulty. The dialect spoken by the Christians in Antioch was far different from the Frankish tongue. “Our patriarch, John, was permitted to reside with us and tend to our spiritual needs; our churches were allowed to remain Christian and not converted to Muslim. But, since your arrival, Yaghi-Siyan grows angry. The patriarch has been thrown into prison. Many of our leading Christian citizens have been banished, others such as myself have fled. The churches …” His voice roughened. “The Cathedral of St. Peter has been desecrated. The emir is using it as a stable for his horses!”

“And the governor,” the count asked, “does he seem to be preparing for a long siege?”

“He is, my lord. And is well able to do so. There is abundant water within the walls, market gardens and pasture for any number of flocks. And the troops pass in and out at their pleasure through the western gates to reprovision the city as it needs.”

“The mood, then?”

“The mood is one of triumph. The governor is confident he will defeat you.”

“I thank you,” Count Garnier said. “Theo, see that this man and his family receive food and shelter. I must report to my lord Godfrey on this.”

In the days following, more and more Christian refugees slipped out of the city into the encampment. Some, however, came out only to spy, and then slipped back in. By no means were all the Christians within the walls discontented with their lot. Many feared any change. Their life had been peaceful and secure under the Turkish governor. In fact, they paid lower taxes than when the city had been under Byzantine rule. They wanted nothing more than to keep things the way they were and avoid conflict. Some were eager to take any information about the crusaders’ plans to the governor, and so curry favor with him.