Silk Road (55 page)

‘One day I took her, when we were out riding together. It was over quickly, before I even realized what I had done. That of itself should have been sin enough for my young bones. I had sated my youthful lust, was it not enough? But no, I hungered for more.’

He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse.

‘What happened next was no accident. My father was away in Paris. I went to her chamber, all the while wanting the door to be locked, even hoping she would scream to the servants, shame me in
front of the household. Instead, she received me into the heat of her embrace and that night we became lovers.’

He stopped, remembering.

‘You cannot know how painful it is to say these things to someone who has forsworn himself from women. Because you see, all the while I loved her, I hated her too, for what she had done to my father and what she had made of me. She had given him the horns, and she had made me despise myself to my very core.

‘My father had been called to the court by the King together with a number of other nobles. Louis had hoped to persuade them to join him on holy armed pilgrimage to the Holy Land. But my father was getting old and when he returned from the court he told me that he had begged leave not to go. But a few days later, without explanation, he changed his mind, and made preparations to embark on crusade. I can only imagine that he divined what had taken place in his absence and this had turned his mind.’

He stopped and cleared his throat, for it was becoming more difficult to speak.

‘He armed a dozen of the peasants, who were to accompany him on the great pilgrimage, and sold ten hectares of land to finance this venture. Catherine herself sewed the scarlet cross on the shoulder of his surcoat.

‘After he had departed I stayed behind in Montgisors as master of the manor and the lands. Now Catherine became brazen. She came to my room every night. But because she feared getting with child she made me take her only in the forbidden way.

‘But with my father gone I found that I could not do that which I had so often dreamed of doing. Her response was to laugh at me. She said I was my father’s son, mocking him and me in the same breath. Soon she stopped coming to my room and I was left with the memory of my sins and no more.’

He took a deep breath.

‘Within a year I had news of my father’s death at Damietta.’

He was silent for a long time.

‘Despite Catherine’s precautions she found she was, after all, with child. I sent her to a convent to bear the infant and when she returned the child was given to the wife of one of my grooms, who lived on the estate. The woman was barren and loved the child like
her own. But when he was four years old the girl died of the croup and so my mortal punishments were complete.

‘So you see, I have slept with my own stepmother and driven my father to his death. I have lived with this sin for these many years. I continued to manage my father’s estates but never again went to his widow. Then some six years ago I took myself to the Holy Land hoping that I would die in battle and that would atone for my sins. I secured a loan from the Templars to finance my crusade, and in return pledged myself to their service for five years. But I did not die, and I have not been redeemed.’

William was silent for a long time. Finally he raised his right hand. ‘With this hand I absolve thee of sin,’ he said. ‘As penance I command you to remain chaste for the rest of your days and give up the remainder of your wealth and all your lands to the Holy Mother Church.’

Josseran felt his breath catch in his throat. He had not anticipated such a penance when he had embarked on his confession. He had deluded himself that William had discovered his humanity in the desert and instead the friar had used the moment’s advantage to crush him, as he had with Mar Salah.

Josseran got back to his feet. ‘I hold you beneath contempt, as I do all priests of your Order. I shall not fulfil your penance nor shall I expect God’s forgiveness. Enough that I shall forgive myself from this moment on. My penance shall be that I will live a better life.’ He went back to his corner of the
han
and fell almost directly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The Roof of the World
autumn, in the year of the Incarnation
of Our Lord 1260

T
HE DESERT WAS
behind them now, the great crossing made for a second time. At Kashgar they stopped at the fort, manned by soldiers loyal to Khubilai, and exchanged the camels for fast Tatar mounts. They rode out towards the western passes.

Above them, the first snows had dusted the foothills at the Roof of the World.

They followed a steep valley up through the mountains, past rushing streams and massive boulders that had been washed down in the spring floodwaters, between red cliffs that disappeared into the clouds. They emerged from the valley on to a plateau and paused for rest beside a salt lake.

Josseran shifted in the saddle of his Tatar stallion. The green spruce of the forest appeared dismal against the white broiling of clouds. The wind brought with it a mist of chill rain and in moments it had washed the valley clean, leaving it verdant in the yellow sunlight. A rainbow arced across the valley.

They would have to hurry before the ice closed in on the Roof of the World and left them trapped, Sartaq said. Once across those mountains they would be but a few months’ ride from Aleppo, and safe returned to their home.

‘Home,’ he murmured.

What home was there now for Josseran Sarrazini? Perhaps it was the nearness of winter in this wild place, but he felt suddenly the fading of his years. He was over thirty years old, and there was little time left for grand designs. Perhaps fifteen years, if he returned to Provence, less if he chose to stay in Outremer, with its disease and assassins and endless skirmishes and wars.

A man’s fate was certain, for we all owe God a death, but now all he wanted was to find either strength enough to die, or reason enough to live.

S
ARTAQ ORDERED THEIR
tiny column to a halt by a fast-flowing stream. The horses had been hobbled and were foraging for pasture while the Tatars refilled their water bags. Further downstream a family of cranes eyed them with startled suspicion.

The glacier-fed stream was already rimmed with ice and the sedge at the bank crackled with frost. They had climbed high into the mountains and winter was racing them to the passes.

A kite wheeled high overhead, shrieking. It sounded like the cry of an infant. Josseran looked up, startled. They received no other warning.

The man at Josseran’s shoulder reeled back suddenly, clutching his throat. An arrow had passed straight through. He fell on to his back in the river, his legs jerking spasmodically, a terrible gurgling sound coming from his mouth as he died. His blood quickly stained the shallows.

Sartaq was first to react, splashing through the stream to his horse and instantly releasing the hobble. Josseran did the same.

He looked over his shoulder, saw a line of horsemen racing towards them from a dry gully just a quarter of a league distant. More arrows rained into them, and Josseran’s horse screamed as two found their mark, sinking almost to the flight into its shoulder and flank. Sartaq was screaming orders to his men from the saddle, trying to organize a defence.

Their attackers were close enough now that Josseran could see their faces. They were Tatars like his escort, but not regular soldiers, they were bandits with little armour, light horsemen dressed in furs and armed with bows and crude lances. There were perhaps no more than a score of them but they had the advantage of surprise.

There was another singing of arrows and then they were on them,
stabbing with their hooked lances, felling those not quick enough to their horses. Josseran rode into the line, swung wildly with his sword and brought one crashing from his horse, then charged at another, unseating him.

He heard a scream and when he turned around he saw William splashing through the shallows of the river, trying to escape on foot. One of the Tatar bowmen was no more than ten paces behind, following him. He was grinning, enjoying the game. He slowed his horse to a trot, lowered his bow and leisurely drew his sword from his belt. He leaned from the saddle for the killing stroke.

Josseran spurred his horse to a gallop and rode straight at him. The Tatar saw him too late. He looked around in horror, knowing what was about to happen and knowing, too, that he could not stop it. His sword arm was raised, exposing his ribs, and it was there that Josseran plunged his own sword, straight-armed, to the hilt. The man screamed and slipped from the saddle. As he fell the weight of his body wrenched the sword from Josseran’s hand.

Josseran wheeled around, looking for William. Another of the Tatar horsemen rode in, grabbed William under the arms and dragged him across his saddle.

‘William!’

Already, the skirmish was over. There were perhaps half a dozen bodies lying in the stream, pierced with arrows. More fur-wrapped bodies lay on the grass. The raiders were galloping away.

Sartaq had mustered his men and formed a defence on the other side of the stream. ‘Let them go,’ Sartaq shouted. ‘Let them go!’

‘They have William!’ Josseran shouted. He jumped from the saddle and retrieved a lance from one of the fallen Tatars. Then he remounted and spurred after the retreating horsemen.

He started his horse up the slope in pursuit, but they had already disappeared beyond the brow of a hill. He reached the crest and started down. William had somehow got free of his captor and was scrambling back up the hill, clutching the hem of
his robes like a woman as he ran. Josseran heard hoofbeats behind him and wheeled around. Two of Sartaq’s men had followed him down the valley. He recognized one of them, Drunken Man.

‘Barbarian! Sartaq orders you to return!’ he shouted.

But the warning came too late.

As Josseran turned his pony he realized he had been lured into a trap. As many as a dozen of the Tatar horsemen had circled behind them. They loosed a volley of arrows and Drunken Man and his companion screamed and slid from their horses. Josseran felt an excruciating pain in his left shoulder.