needed to get my wits about me and garner my resources. But first, I had to deal with my dead friends.
It took me the rest of that day to drag the bodies to a central spot and to construct some sort of tomb for them. It was a gruesome task, pulling and tugging the bloodied corpses of friends like carcasses in an abattoir. As I only had my seax and sword with which to dig, I decided to build a stone cairn around them as a memorial. The lake shore was littered with rocks, and I set about collecting them to build a final resting place for my comrades. It was a long way from their home, but there were trees and water nearby and I hoped they would think it not too unlike England.
At dusk, with a sickening discovery, one of my immediate predicaments disappeared. Even though the light was fading, there was no mistaking what I could see. About five yards from the shore, just beneath the surface of the water, three shockingly white, spread-eagled outlines drifted into view. A fourth shape lapped against the water’s edge.
I knew instantly that the bodies belonged to Anna and Theodora and their handmaidens. They were naked and facing downwards, but their female contours were unmistakeable. I sank to my knees and wept uncontrollably. Life was often cruel, but this was unbearable. And what was even worse: I was to blame.
I should have found another way to get them from Tarsus. Perhaps we should have turned back to the sea and taken a ship? But I was driven by my passion to see Constantinople. Then, I had fallen asleep on my watch. Even though the brigands had attacked from another direction, had I been more alert, I might have been able to help prevent the slaughter.
After a few minutes, I got a grip of myself and waded into the water to retrieve the bodies. Their throats had been sliced from ear to ear, and I feared they had suffered other unspeakable indignities. The bodies must have been in the water for some time; their wounds had been washed clean, their bodies were drained of blood and were beginning to stiffen.
I looked at Anna and saw that, despite the pallor of death, she looked serene; I hoped she was at peace. I tried not to think of what had happened to her at the hands of her killers, choosing to remember instead the exquisite pleasures of our night together.
Even though the gloom of night had descended, I used the moonlight to help me finish my task. I made a separate cairn for the four girls. Then, before I rested, I finished my crude mausoleum with a simple cross fashioned from broken branches lying on the ground.
20. Battle of Arsuf
When I woke before dawn the next morning, I was still distressed by what had happened. But I was also emboldened by the new responsibility I now carried. I began to trudge downhill towards the road between Eregli and the Cilician Gates. I had no horse, no money and only the clothes I stood up in. But I had my weapons and armour – and with them, by either fair means or foul, I had all I needed to acquire a mount and a handful of silver.
Eregli was typical of a settlement at a crossroads; it bustled with traders and travellers and people of many nationalities. It was raucous, dusty and had the fetid atmosphere of too many bodies in too small a space. Christian pilgrims were sometimes seen, but most thought it wise to avoid the city. I did the same, but from a distance I glimpsed what I wanted to find. There was a large group of Armenians in the city, sporting their Phrygian caps and Kipchak bows, just as Alun had described them. I was certain they were the ones who had massacred my friends.
I wanted revenge, but my stomach wound was still very tender. And besides, there were at least two dozen of them. My priorities lay elsewhere. All I needed was a horse and enough silver to get me back to the Christian army in Palestine. I decided to bide my time and waylay one of them. I chose a quiet spot above the city, on the road to Tarsus, and waited.
It took a while for the opportunity to arise but, eventually, one of the brigands left the city and rode towards me. It was immediately obvious that he was part of the group responsible for the slaughter, because he was riding Godric’s horse. My anger rose, but I knew I had to remain calm. I used my bow to take him out of his saddle, my arrow hitting him just below his throat. He hit the ground with a thump and did not move.
As I dragged his body to the side of the road, I saw that he was still breathing, so I pulled him up and leaned him against a tree. He opened his eyes but could not speak, as his chest was filling with blood. Then, with great relish and a cruelty I could not resist, I drew his khanjar from its jewelled scabbard and slowly slit his throat. Moments later, he keeled over into a pool of his own blood and I hid his body with leaves. I had never killed a man so heartlessly, but he deserved it. His pouch contained a fistful of the princesses’ silver and one gold bezant. I stole his khanjar, his lance and his quiver of arrows, before retrieving Godric’s destrier and making a rapid escape.
I travelled only at night and avoided all major roads. I ate what I could kill and only occasionally bought some dried fruit or goat’s milk from farms well away from settlements. It was a long and tedious journey, and one during which remorse hung over me like a shroud.
When I reached Antioch, I met a group of German knights who were escorting some maimed and sick comrades to the coast for their journey home to Europe. They told me that after the fall of Acre, there had been many changes to the crusading army. King Philip of France had returned to Europe, leaving only a small contingent of knights and sufficient money to pay them. Leopold, Duke of Austria, had also left, taking most of the Holy Roman Empire’s army with him. Only Richard’s Angevins and Englishmen remained to fight the Christian cause.
Leaving Berengere and his sister, Joan, in the relative safety of Acre, Richard had marched south after his victory. Using typical tactical acumen, he hugged the coast and advanced in tight formation with his baggage train closest to the sea, his knights in the middle and his archers on the landward side to keep the Muslim bowmen at bay. He ensured that his fleet shadowed him along the coast, keeping the army supplied, and he always camped close to a plentiful supply of fresh water.
The German knights told me that even though he had lost his allies and almost all of their men, the Lionheart remained determined to liberate Jerusalem. I was not in the least surprised; I would not have expected him to do anything else.
Now that I was within the narrow strip of the Palestinian coast that was still in Christian hands, I could travel openly and with much more speed. As I moved south, I could see little other than the devastation of war. What were once villages were now ruins, some still smouldering; barns had been ravaged, crops burned, wells poisoned and every edible creature had either been eaten or killed. September had begun, but it was still hot. The land was parched; it was either hard rock or searing sand. The only comfort was the distant Mediterranean, shimmering to the west.
On the fifth day of September, I saw the rear of the Christian army on the horizon. It manifested itself as a huge column of dust, like an approaching sandstorm. But I knew what it was, because I could feel the rhythm of its tread in the ground and hear the din of its men, horses and weapons drifting on the wind.
When I reached the massed ranks, I worked my way through the tightly packed units until I found William Marshal’s contingent. I had decided he was my best passport back into the King’s army. I also resolved that when I next saw the Lionheart I would be frank with him about my circumstances and my reasons.
Fortunately, his men-at-arms recognized me. Although they looked askance at my sudden reappearance, they let me approach their lord. Marshal also looked surprised to see me.
‘Ah, the man with a conscience. What brings you back?’
‘I have good reasons, my Lord.’
‘The King will not take kindly to seeing you again.’
‘I know, sire. I intend to keep a low profile until I can find a good time.’
‘How will you do that?’
‘Let me join one of your conrois as a man-at-arms?’
‘Where is the Abbot Alun and your men?’
‘All dead, my Lord.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But how?’
