with me into Antioch?’ With a quick jerk of his wrist, the sword leaped from his grip and spun in the air, planting its hilt back in his hand. ‘Through God, we will do great deeds and trample down our enemies. I ask again: who is with me?’
Many of the army had risen to their feet as he spoke, some in awe and some in doubt. Now, to a man, they brandished their arms and bellowed their war cries. Some beat their spears on the rocks, others thumped the pommels of their swords against their shields. The hollow rang with the clamour of five hundred men raised to a frenzy, resounding so loud that I feared it might dislodge the very slopes which cupped us. But above all else, over all the shouting and drumming, one phrase swelled imperious.
‘
Bohemond held his arms aloft, his face enraptured like an angel’s. ‘Enough. We should not allow the Turks to hear us, even so far away. We will crawl up on them like snakes, and strike before they have seen we are there. By dawn, I promise you, this long siege will be over.’
? ?
Though the agonising heat had passed, our journey back through the night felt longer than the afternoon’s march. Worst was the darkness, masking our way and forcing endless knocks and collisions along the column. Frequently men fell, tripping on rocks or slipping off the steep paths we followed. Some escaped with little more than curses and bruises, while others were left to hobble after us as best they could. Spears swayed and bumped each other, rattling like bones over our heads; one swung so low that it almost stabbed through my skull when its owner stumbled ahead of me. Frogs croaked in the under-brush and bats squeaked in the trees – once I froze as I heard a bell off on my right, though I guessed it was only a goat. I touched my chest, feeling the silver cross through the layers of cloth and iron, and prayed to Christ to keep me safe through the perils ahead. And thus our jangling, clanking, toiling column wound its way over the hills.
On the crest of a ridge we paused for breath. A few half-empty water-skins were passed down the line, and I drank gratefully. At last I knew where we had come: ahead, the dark bulk of the mountain loomed black against the silver sky; down to my left, far below, I could see the scattered glow of watchfires, and the meandering course of the Orontes like white silk in the moonlight. We were on the southern shoulder of Mount Silpius, and the string of yellow lights glimmering on the next ridge must have been the high towers of Antioch.
Before that, though, a steep ravine cut through our way. There were no paths down – even goats did not venture here, it seemed – and our column fanned out into a straggling line, each seeking the safest route. The ground underfoot was loose and treacherous: many times I had to jerk my feet away from rocks which gave beneath me. Once I was too slow, and I found myself thrown onto my back and sliding down with my shield rattling after me. A cloud of dust rose, filling my nose and mouth, and when I threw out a hand to halt myself I grasped only spiky branches. All around me I could hear similar sounds of tumbling rocks and cursing men, and my heart pounded for fear that a volley of Turkish arrows might fly hissing out of the night. None came.
The stream that must have carved the gully had dried up, leaving only a rocky channel at the bottom. After a few minutes to catch our breath we were moving again, now climbing the far side of the ravine. We scrambled up the shifting scree, heedless of the pebbles cascading down behind us or the rattle of our scabbards striking the ground. Enveloped in darkness and surrounded by alien voices, I felt that I had relinquished my soul to some intangible power, driven on without will or reason. I wished Sigurd were there to calm me with his implacable strength, his unbending faith in the power of his arms, but he was far away.
At the top of the slope we stopped again. The Romans who had built the walls of Antioch had used its terrain to their full advantage, and the greater length of the southern walls rose seamlessly from the steep gully. Here, though, the wall turned away along the ridge of the mountain, and there was a short stretch of open ground in front of us. We waited, pressing ourselves into the earth just below the lip of the ravine and praying that we were beneath the gaze of the guards. Half-whispered commands passed along our line. My face was buried in the grass, and somewhere nearby I smelled the scent of wild sage.
A rough hand jostled my shoulder, and again the word was hissed in my ear.
I rolled over. A Norman whom I did not recognise was squatting beside me. ‘What?’
‘You must go to Lord Bohemond. That way.’ He pointed east along the gully.
Too dazed to question him, I lifted my shield and edged across the slope, always keeping my head low. About a hundred yards along the line, I found Bohemond crouched in a small hollow with three of his lieutenants. Even in the dark his face gleamed with purpose.
‘That is the tower.’ He pointed ahead, where a slab of grey stood out against the night. A thin bar of yellow light shone from a narrow window. ‘There should be a ladder hidden in the bushes at its base.’
I said nothing.
‘The tower is kept by a man named Firouz. He is a Turk, but he speaks your tongue. You will accompany the first party up the ladder and tell him that I have come.’
I did not ask how he knew this, or how he could be certain that we would not meet a shower of spears and arrows when we reached the wall. ‘Now?’
‘As soon as the watch has passed.’ Bohemond looked up at the sky. ‘We must be swift. Dawn is not far off.’
We waited in silence, watching the walls. As the minutes passed the stones seemed to become brighter, more distinct, and the light in the window faded. A bird began to mewl its mournful song, and was swiftly answered by another. Bohemond fidgeted, while I kept still and felt my limbs grow stiff and damp with dew.
‘There.’
I looked up. A light was advancing along the walls, dizzyingly high above us, blinking as it passed behind the teeth of the battlements. It disappeared into the tower. Bohemond’s knuckles were now white around an exposed tree root.
‘Do you have a cross?’
I fumbled about my neck and dragged my silver cross from under the mail.
‘Wear it openly. It is not yet so light that we will be obvious to each other.’
The torch emerged on the far side of the tower, so close that I could see the shadows of the men who carried it. I heard laughter: no doubt the news of Kerbogha’s approach had lifted their spirits. I prayed that it would equally have blinded them to danger.
The light reached the bend in the wall, turned, and vanished out of sight.
‘Now.’
A dozen knights rose from the shadows and ran across the open ground. With a shove against my shoulders I was sent staggering after them. My shield and armour weighed on me like rocks; every stride seemed to fall short of where I stretched it. My legs throbbed with the effort, and with my head bowed I could see neither friend nor foe. To any archer on the rampart I would be an effortless target.
I came under the walls and dropped to my knees. On my right I could hear the urgent sounds of men searching through undergrowth; then a hiss of triumph. Wood creaked as the knights gathered round the ladder and raised it above them, shuddering as it swayed through the air. It knocked against the wall, rebounded, then settled on the stone.
‘You.’
One of the knights who held the ladder beckoned me over. ‘Climb up there and explain that the Lord Bohemond has come.’
Too drained to argue, I swung myself onto the ladder and began to climb. For months I had stared at these walls, willing them to open and wondering how it would feel ever to break through them: now, as I pulled myself hand over hand toward their summit, I could think of nothing save the frailty of the ladder. It might have been left by the original Roman architects, for the timber was brittle to the touch and every rung groaned beneath my tread. Higher and higher I went, my hands shaking so hard that I almost lost my grip. If I fell, or if the ladder broke now,
