The Psalter (26 page)

“This is a war. No one is safe in a war. Allah will either protect me or require my death. His will be done. Shall we?” Ahmad motioned down the Vatican Hill toward the column, and they trotted off.

Theophylact held up his hand to halt the slow-moving carts as Ahmad and Johannes reined in their smaller horses. Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he peered down on Johannes from his massive charger and addressed him in Latin. “Are you here to interpret,
bibliothecarius
, or have you converted to Islam?”

“I still wear my priestly garments, yet you don a knight’s armor,” Johannes said. “Which are you?”

Ahmad interrupted the exchange, speaking in perfect Latin, which caused Benedict’s mouth to gape. “The priest is here in good faith to reclaim the Christian scriptures. Are you?”

“Enough.” Theophylact halted the verbal joust. “We’re here to trade. We brought your gold, as you see. Where are the books?”

“They lie in the courtyard of your great church in plain sight, but I don’t see any gold, only carts. I would first have evidence that you bring what was promised.”

“And I must confirm that our Holy Scriptures are undefiled.” The count smiled shrewdly.

“There’s no obstacle, sir. By the prophet, I swear the writings are undamaged. You may enter the Vatican freely and take your priests with you to verify the truth of my words.”

“And fall into a trap? No, thank you. Bring them here.”

“The books are there just as the Prince says,” Johannes said. “I have the prince’s word the exchange may be done in peace. No one will be molested.”

“You believe a common thief?”

Ahmad eyes flashed. “I demanded that no soldiers come, yet you are here. Do you think I need to set a trap for priests? What game do you play? I have no wagons to haul your books. If you want them, you must take them from where they lie. First, you will pay the price. I’m not here to haggle.”

Theophylact dug spurs into his charger’s flanks. The warhorse leapt forward as the count drew his sword and swung it down on the prince’s head. Ahmad loosed his scimitar in a flash from the sheath on his back and deflected the heavy blow with an earsplitting ring as the count’s warhorse charged by.

Theophylact reined to the side, but the charger was no match for the smaller, nimble Arabian, and Ahmad was on his heels, closing. He extended his scimitar to deliver a slicing coup de grâce when the sword flew from his hand. Benedict had struck the blade in mid-blow and turned backward in the saddle as he passed. He sliced at Ahmad’s throat. The prince ducked as the steel whistled by. The turban flew from his head.

Reining his stallion hard, the prince faced three columns of armored cavalry charging up Vatican Hill from both flanks and the middle. Theophylact and Benedict had turned their mounts and attacked ahead of the mounted troops. Ahmad’s blade lay on the ground, out of reach. Blood flowed from his brow.

They’ll be on him in an instant
, Johannes said inwardly. “Flee!” he shouted. The prince wiped blood from his eyes and looked frantically for an escape. He swayed on his mount and seemed addled. At the last moment, Johannes wrested the reins from his hands and tugged. His stallion lurched sideways in a big crow hop. Ahmad held on to the saddle with all his might, rocking back and forth.

Johannes led Ahmad’s mount by the reins and raced for the protection of Saint Peter’s. Looking behind, Theophylact and Benedict rode just ahead of their cavalry in full attack. He put distance between them on the faster Arabians, but the prince slumped in his saddle. He could not hold on much longer and if he fell, they’d be lost. Approaching the Vatican, columns of Saracen riders galloped from behind the buildings, passing them on either side, followed by a horde of infantry shouting and waving axes and scimitars. Ahmad’s captain flew by, his angry eyes flashing as he looked at the bloody prince. He turned toward the immediate threat and spurred his mount, racing to his place at the head of his men.

The air split with the clanging of steel and horses screaming as the two armies crashed headlong into one another. The horrible sound pierced Johannes’ ears as he reined in the wild-eyed mounts in front of Saint Peter’s. He leapt to the ground just in time to catch Ahmad, who fell but clung to his horse’s neck. Johannes pulled Ahmad’s arm over his shoulder and they stumbled up the basilica steps into the coolness of the Narthex, where he laid the Saracen prince gently down.

Johannes tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his brown robe and dabbed at the livid gash above the prince’s eyebrow. Ahmad opened his eyes and whispered, “Priest, you’re a wonder.” Then he closed his eyes and sank into unconsciousness.

24
Sacrilege

Johannes fetched a sleeping pallet from one of the sexton’s cells. He lay Ahmad down and covered him with blankets. The prince had lost much blood and shivered as warmth drained from his body. Finding a needle and thread, Johannes had lowered his hand to stitch the livid gash that stretched from eyebrow to temple when the sound of boots running across the stone pavement caught his attention.

“Will he live?” Ahmad’s captain panted as he knelt beside Johannes.

“The wound is not lethal, but it’s to the bone and must be cleaned and closed.”

“Shall I hold him?” the captain asked.

“I’ve numbed the gash with an unguent of opium. With luck, I’ll finish before he regains consciousness.” Johannes noticed a tear in the corner of the captain’s eye. “I know you love your prince. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“He’s not just my prince. He’s my brother.”

“Fear not. I’m no doctor, but I’ve sewn many a cut, although few so deep as this.” Johannes drew the needle to the brow to sew the first stitch as a hand grabbed his wrist.

Ahmad did not open his eyes and spoke hoarsely. “Was there a battle, Captain?”

“Yes Prince, but not much of one.”

“And the gold?”

“Please, Brother, let the priest attend to your wound then we can talk.”

“Captain?”

“It was a ruse. The carts were filled with stones and branches. The priests ran as soon as you were attacked. Then the cavalry came from their concealment and chased you up the hill. They would have caught you, too, if not for the priest.”

Ahmad opened his eyes and cast them on Johannes. “Go on.”

“We engaged them hard, although ours was the smaller force. When they saw we wouldn’t run, they were the ones who cowered. They fled like women.”

“Dead and wounded?”

“A few minor wounds, a drunken Turk fell from his horse and broke an arm, and a Berber’s horse bit a sergeant in the arse.” The captain tried to make his brother laugh, but Ahmad didn’t even grin, so he continued, “As I said, it wasn’t much of a fight. They were probably an expeditionary force. A larger army may attack in the morning.”

“Very wise, Captain, and what do you think, Priest? You saved my life although I’m your enemy. Could I trust you to tell me the truth?”

“I didn’t do it for you. I wanted to save our scriptures.”

“Again, you speak without deceit. Will they attack tomorrow?”

Johannes hung his head to hide the misery that overwhelmed him.

“I think not,” the Prince of Ifriqiya said. “These men had no intention of rescuing your holy books, did they?”

“The force was led by Count Theophylact and the knight at his side was a priest although he debases our order. Land and money are their business. I fear it was only a show, and the church has lost.”

Ahmad put his hand on Johannes’ arm to comfort him; however, the librarian felt little. “Perhaps things will not be as bad as you think. After all, I owe you my life. Attend to my wound and then we can talk. And priest, make the stitches small.”

“I can ease only some of the pain. Are you so vain that you’re worried how the scar will look?”

“I’m the leader of men. Many have had battle wounds stitched. This is my first. I want them to witness that pain is nothing to me so sew the stitches small, very small.”

“As you wish.”

Saint Peter’s Basilica looked more like a ruin than the holiest church in the world. Saracen soldiers and Turkish mercenaries camped on the stone floor, their fires burning in every niche and filling the building with acrid smoke. They spoke in muffled voices, and their hollow laughter echoed off sad, bare walls. Johannes tucked blankets around the prince, avoiding the accusing eyes of his enemies.

Ahmad’s younger brother had returned after seeing to the men and knelt next to Johannes, inspecting Ahmad’s flushed face. “Will he be able to travel?”

“He’s running a fever. He may have an infection.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing for the moment. We must let him sleep.”

“Do what you can for we leave at first light.”

“Ahmad needs rest if he’s to recover.”

“I have to think of the troops now. We must escape before your armies regroup.”

Johannes awakened with a start. He had drifted into an uneasy sleep on the chill basilica floor, watching Ahmad’s face contort in pain and then ease. Having mixed a draught of opium and mandrake dissolved in wine to make him sleep, he was stunned to find the pallet empty. Forcing his stiff cold bones to rise, he found himself alone in the church. A commotion of shouting men came from outside.

Ahmad barked orders to the men who hitched horses to wagons abandoned by Theophylact. They had draped some kind of strange collar Johannes had never seen around the horses’ necks, and lashed the collar to the wagons.Troops scrambled atop the carts, emptying branches, straw, and rubble. A group of Berber mercenaries grabbed handfuls of books and tossed them irreverently into an emptied wagon. Ahmad shouted an incomprehensible order, obviously a rebuke. The Berbers shrugged their shoulders and sat on the end of the wagon.

“You’re awake at last, Priest.”

Johannes placed his hand on the prince’s forehead. Cold, damp sweat moistened his palm. “The fever has broken. There’s no infection.”

“I’m taking your scriptures, and all you can think about is my health?”

“If I begged you to leave our books, would you?”

“Would that I could. As ungrateful as it sounds, I need the dinars they will bring. My people survive by plundering our enemies. However, we’re commanded to take neither from Moslems nor lands that pledge us fealty. So we raid further and further afield to find gold and silver. The armies which make us powerful drain our wealth like ravenous dogs. I must pay the men in my service. If I can’t, they shall be master and I slave.” Ahmad put his hand on Johannes’ shoulder. “But I’m shamed before you, Priest. You showed me kindness when I deserved none. You saved the life of a prince of the tribe of Bani Tamim. So I held my men, who are anxious to flee, at bay until you awakened.”

“For what reason?”

“To repay you in some small way, and perhaps I can do your faith a service as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said these books were filled with forgeries and all manner of false writing, is that not so?”

“True.”

“Would you not wish to be rid of the lies?”

“Of course.”

“Although I don’t know you, your heart is plain to see. So I will allow you to choose the words of the Prophet Jesus that shall remain and which writings will come with me.”

“I don’t understand.” Johannes furrowed his brow.

“We leave in one hour. I can give you until then to pick as many books as you wish. Those you select, you may keep. The rest, I must take. I’ve instructed my captain to assist you.”

“You’re asking me to decide what’s true and what’s not?”

“No,” the prince replied. “I am granting that you may keep what you want.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“For an honest man, I suppose it is. It’s a great burden. I realize that now.”

“I don’t possess the wisdom.”

“Then you must find some and if you cannot, I counsel you to follow your heart. It served me well. I’ve read that Christians are commanded to love their enemies. You obeyed your God and showed me love. I’m sure He will now show you the answer you seek. When the sun rises, we leave. You have an hour.” Ahmad turned, shouted some orders, and was gone.

Johannes ran amongst mounds of books and scrolls stacked in front of the basilica, trying to make sense of what might be in the piles. Saracens gaped at the crazy priest as he opened one book and another, glancing inside, then casting them aside. Many mocked or aped his frantic spinning and scrambling to the amusement of their comrades, laughing out loud and running in circles only to fall to the ground howling. Johannes ignored them. He had but an hour to save what he could.

Ahmad’s brother didn’t join in the merrymaking. He dutifully followed the frantic priest, catching books tossed to him and handing them to sergeants who passed them to the soldiers who had formed a sort of bucket brigade. They, in turn, passed the scrolls and books man-to-man and heaped them on the basilica steps.

At last, Johannes found the pile that held the most promise and dove into the middle to the astonished guffaws of his audience. Books flew in the air like a fountain, and soldiers broke into even louder laughter.

“Silence,” Ahmad finally shouted. “Load these.” He pointed with an angry glare to the stacks Johannes had left behind. Men rushed to their work throwing seven hundred years of Christendom’s testimonies into emptied wagons. Finally, soldiers began scooping at the hill of books surrounding Johannes as the first rays of morning sun loosed their brilliant arrows.

Johannes, exhausted but still frenetic, felt a hand on his shoulder. “Your time is up,” Ahmad said.

“A few more,” Johannes said.

“We can wait no longer. We must retreat.”

The librarian plopped down on his backside, legs splayed, as the last of the church’s writings were snatched from around him. An uncomfortable lump prodded his skinny rump and he pulled out one remaining book, a Psalter. He hugged it against his chest. “I don’t know whether to curse you or thank you,” Johannes said to Ahmad.

“You may do either, or neither, or both, as you wish. You’ve earned the right. In your place, I think I should curse you. However, I don’t have your courage. Only exceptional men, and most women of course, possess such bravery to carry on when only tragedy and hopelessness reign, doing what must be done when all seems lost. It’s far easier to fight and die rather than carry on.” Prince Ahmad surveyed Johannes with his thoughtful regard. “You’re no woman, so I’m proud to know an exceptional priest.”