? ?
They let me sleep for an hour – they could not have stopped me, for the moment Sigurd let me go I sprawled exhausted onto the stone floor. Then they roused me to demand answers. We made a fire on the top of the tower, for after so long in dark caves I craved light and air, and Sigurd roasted a small cube of meat on the end of a spear.
‘Horseflesh,’ he explained. ‘I found a Norman who had slaughtered his mount and was selling it, a bezant a portion.’
‘He will regret that when Kerbogha comes.’
‘He has probably already fled – or died. Have you seen what Bohemond did to the city?’
Sigurd waved an arm to the south-east. From our height, the devastation of that quarter of Antioch was easily visible. The blaze no longer raged, for the wind had turned the flames back towards the mountain where they had already devoured all there was to consume. Yet its embers still glowed red, winking in the night like a carpet of light, as though a bucket of live coals had been tipped out across the city.
‘I have seen what Bohemond did,’ I said wearily. ‘I was there.’
‘So was I.’
‘Why?’
‘I was looking for you.’ Sigurd pulled the spear from the fire and held it towards me. I scorched my fingers as I slid off the dripping meat, and shook it in the air to cool a little.
‘Sigurd has spent two days searching the city for you,’ Anna explained. She was sitting against the parapet at a little distance, unwilling to come too close to me.
‘I gave up when I saw the madness Bohemond had unleashed. I would not have found my own brother in that rout. And now, perhaps, you can tell me where you have been.’
The meat had cooled in my hand; I popped it in my mouth, desperate to savour it after my long, unwanted fast. Too quickly, it was gone – and though I knew what it had cost Sigurd, and loved him for it, it only sparked a more ravenous hunger.
‘I went in search of Odard. I wanted to know . . .’ I paused. What had I wanted to know? ‘I wanted to know if he had killed the boy – Simon, his servant.’
‘Had he?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’ I could barely remember. ‘His wits had deserted him – he gibbered without meaning. I – I killed him.’
Anna leaned forward sharply. ‘What?’
Without meeting her gaze I told how the Tafurs had made me fight Odard, how the dagger had plunged itself into his heart, how I had run until I could run no further, then been struck down by the robbers. ‘When I awoke, I was in a cave. I did not know it at first, but it was a lair of heretics.’
‘What heretics?’ Sigurd asked.
‘The heretics who carve their backs with crosses. Sarah, the woman who visited Drogo in his tent, she is their priestess.’ I shuddered, remembering the dark hours in their cave. ‘I saw their rituals; I heard their secrets – terrible lies which should not be repeated. They fed me artemisia to ease my pain, and bound me.’
‘Artemisia would have numbed your senses as much as your pain.’ The physician in Anna was quick to speak. ‘Doubtless they hoped to stupefy you.’
Perhaps they had. Even to think on what Sarah had told me was like touching a scar. Was it the pain of error, though, or the stabbing fear of truth?
‘When the fires started they fled their cave. I escaped, found my way to the walls and came here.’
There was silence.
‘What will you do about the heretics?’ Sigurd asked.
‘What can I do? I did not see their faces, save one. If I report them to the Frankish priests they will be burned alive.’
‘If you do not, their impiety may infest the whole army. God may abandon us.’ Sigurd had a soldier’s fear of affronting the deities, and an exhaustive knowledge of the ways in which they might take offence.
Anna had less care for divine sensibilities. ‘God may abandon us?’ she echoed. ‘Look around you. He
‘This was not that sort of heresy,’ I said. ‘It was deeper. Darker.’
Anna banged her fist on the stone beside her. ‘It does not matter, Demetrios! The ship founders, and all you care about is the set of the sail.’
‘If we are bound to die, it is important to die piously,’ I insisted.
‘Are we bound to die?’
I looked out across the ravaged city again. It was not a quiet night: screaming and crashing and shouting still resounded in the darkness, punctuated by the occasional clash of steel. Who could guess the calamities they signalled, the battles raging unseen around the fragment of wall we sat on? For all I knew, we could be the last Christians left in the city.
‘I do not know if we are doomed. All we can do is stay here as long as our defences stand, and see who comes to find us.’
‘Nonsense,’ Sigurd growled. ‘Feeble nonsense. If we are to die, we should die like men, taking our fight to the enemy. When I come to see my ancestors, I will not have them scorn me as a coward.’
‘And what will you do if they condemn you for rushing too fast to meet them?’ Anna demanded. ‘You will not be able to come back.’
‘You fear to die too soon. I only fear to die badly.’
‘Enough!’ I lifted my hand to still them, and in the pause I heard shouts from below. I scrambled to my feet and looked down through one of the embrasures. Two horses stood patiently in front of the tower door; I could not identify their riders, for both wore cloaks even though the night was hot. One leaned forward to speak with our guard, and whatever he said must have satisfied the Varangian for he took the horses’ bridles and tethered them to a ring in the wall, then ushered the men into the tower. The slap of footsteps rose from the stairwell behind me, sounding ever louder, until a cowled head popped up through the opening. It looked around, blinking in the firelight, then fixed on me.
‘Demetrios. I hoped to find you here.’
The man’s hands came up and pulled the hood back from his face. He wore neither hat nor helmet beneath it: his grey hair was matted and tousled. At his neck, behind the beard, I saw the gleam of mail. Clearly he had not changed his clothing since we had met by the palace.
‘Are there not more important matters in Antioch to attend, your Grace?’
Adhemar climbed out of the stairwell and, glancing at me for permission, seated himself against the wall between me and Sigurd. His companion sat beside him. He did not pull back his hood, and Adhemar did not name him.
‘What news of the city?’ Anna’s impatience swept her manners aside. ‘Has it fallen?’
Adhemar shook his head slowly. The flames reflected on his face dug out every crevice and wrinkle, the deep pits around his eyes: he seemed immeasurably old.
‘We hold it, praise God. We have tried Him sorely.’
‘Bohemond tries God like none save the Devil,’ added Adhemar’s companion, with a rasping anger that I recognised immediately as Count Raymond’s. ‘And for now it earns him the Devil’s luck.’
‘How many men were lost tonight?’ I asked.
‘Who knows? Those who burned to death in the flames will never be found; those who escaped will never be numbered, unless Kerbogha finds them and sends trophies of their bodies. But I fear that Bohemond has lost more through the fire than he has gained.’
