There was a movement beside the lord as his wife stepped beside him. Alone of those present, her expression was dour. Ranulf, oblivious to her disapproval and giddy with the prospect before him, took her hand into his. The abbot looked away primly.
'Naturally,' intoned the abbot after a moment, 'the jarl wishes it to be known that, inasmuch as he is not taking the cross himself, he will not be extending any material assistance to those who choose to go.'
'Nothing?' asked Ranulf, the smile fading from his face.
The abbot gave a slight shake of his head. Murdo could see how much the grey-robed cleric relished his position as emissary, and hated him the more. Self-important meddler, thought Murdo, and entertained himself with the vision of the abbot's backside covered in ripe, red boils.
'You see how it is,' Abbot Gerardus replied. 'The jarl has many claims on his properties and substance. It is enough that he will be deprived of the rightful tribute of his noblemen. Certainly, he cannot be expected to provide supplies and provisions for all.'
'But-' began Ranulf. His protest was stifled by the imperious abbot's upraised palm.
'It is the view of the church that those who follow the crusade are pilgrims and as such must meet the cost of the pilgrimage out of their own resources.' He looked around the room, as if assessing the value of its appointments. 'If one finds oneself unable to meet the cost, then perhaps one is unwise in pursuing the journey.'
'The tribute will be forgiven?' wondered Ranulf.
'Of course.'
'For the duration of the crusade?'
The abbot nodded. 'All tithes and taxes, too, yes-that is, until the pilgrim returns.'
Ranulf rubbed his chin, reckoning his savings.
'I would not like to think the love of mammon stood between any man and his sacred duty,' Abbot Gerardus continued. 'The spiritual rewards are not inconsiderable. As you know, all pilgrims will enjoy complete absolution for all sins committed while on crusade, and should death befall anyone who takes the cross, his soul is assured swift admission into paradise.'
'That much I have heard,' Ranulf replied.
Lady Niamh, grim and silent, stood with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. Murdo knew the look, and rightly feared it.
The three young men entered the hall just then, eager to hear the abbot's news. They approached the board and Ranulf beckoned them close. 'We have our answer,' the lord informed his sons and nephew. 'Jarl Erlend will allow the crusade, but we cannot look to him for aid.'
'We can go?' asked Torf, glancing from his father to the abbot and back again.
'Aye, that we can,' Lord Ranulf answered.
'Then I take the cross!' declared Torf, thrusting forward.
'Torf-Einar!' exclaimed Lady Niamh. 'It is not for you to say.'
'I take the cross!' Skuli echoed, ignoring his mother.
Not to be outdone, Paul pushed forward. 'In the name of Christ, I take the cross!'
Ranulf stood, gazing resolutely at his wife. 'Tell Bishop Adalbert that Lord Ranulf of Dyrness and his sons will come before him to take the cross on the Saint John's Sabbath.'
Murdo heard this and his heart beat faster. Did his father mean to include him, too? Perhaps the lord had changed his mind, and he would be included after all. He held his breath.
The young abbot nodded. 'Trust that I will tell him. Of course, you will wish to place your lands under the protection of the church during your pilgrimage.'
'That will not be necessary,' Ranulf replied easily. 'Lady Niamh will remain in authority here. My son, Murdo, will be here to help her, of course, and as the jarl is to stay in Orkneyjar, we have nothing to fear.'
Murdo's face fell as the hope, so quickly kindled, died to ashes in his heart.
'That is your privilege, of course, Lord Ranulf,' remarked the abbot. 'But I advise you to pray and seek God's guidance in this matter. You can deliver your decision to the bishop on the Sabbath.'
'There is no need,' Ranulf assured him. 'I have made my decision, and I will not be changing it now.'
'Very well.' With that, the abbot rose, and Murdo received the distinct impression that, having made a dreadful blunder, they were all being abruptly dismissed.
Heads erect, hands folded before them, Abbot Gerardus and his brother monks left the hall, retracing their steps to the yard. The lord bade his sons to fetch the clerics' horses, and Murdo used the opportunity to loosen the cinch strap on the abbot's saddle-not enough so that the churchman should fall, but enough to make the saddle sway uneasily from side to side.
Back in the yard once more, the abbot accepted the reins from Murdo's hand and, without so much as a word of thanks, swung himself onto his mount. 'Pax vobiscum,' he intoned sourly.
'Pax vobiscum,' answered Ranulf, whereupon the abbot wheeled his horse and rode from the yard, followed by his three silent companions.
After supper the Lord of Dyrness and his lady wife exchanged sharp words. Late into the night their voices could be heard beyond the thick walls of their chamber. The servingmen had vanished just after clearing the supper board, lest they come foul of their lord's displeasure, and none were to be found anywhere. Murdo, sitting alone at the hearth, could not hear what they said, but the meaning was clear enough. Even the lord's grey wolfhound remained curled in a corner of the hearth, jowls resting on his great paws.
'What ails you, Jotun?' muttered Murdo, flicking a peat clod at the dog. 'It's
Murdo did not go to his bed that night; he was discouraged enough already without listening to the smug chatter of his brothers and cousin. Instead, he stalked the hill behind the house cursing his luck and railing against his untimely birth. He demanded of the heavens to know why he had been born last, but neither the stars, nor the pale half moon deigned to answer. They never did.
TWO
'Your horse has been saddled, Basileus,' announced Nicetas. From his camp chair in the centre of the tent, Alexius Comnenus, Emperor of All Christendom, God's Co-Regent on Earth, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army, rose and lifted his arms. Two young armour-bearers darted forward, one of them clutching the imperial sword, and the other the wide silver belt.
Together the two buckled the sword and then backed silently away while old Gerontius, Magister of the Chamber, shuffled forward holding the emperor's golden circlet on a small cushion of purple silk. Alexius lifted the circlet and placed it on his head, and then turned to his ageing servant. 'Are we ready, Gerontius?'
'The Basileus is ready,' replied Gerontius with a bow.
'Come then, Nicetas,' said the emperor, stepping quickly to the door. 'We would not have the enemy believe we are cowering in our tent. We shall let them see us at the head of our troops, and they shall know Alexius fears nothing.'
The two men emerged from the imperial tent, and the emperor stepped onto the mounting block where his favourite stallion waited. Alexius raised his foot to the stirrup and swung easily into the saddle; he took up the reins and, with Nicetas, Captain of the Excubitori, the palace guard, mounted beside him, made his way slowly through the camp to the chorused shouts of acclaim from rank upon rank of soldiers.
'Listen to them, Nicetas. They are eager for the fight,' Alexius observed. 'That is good. We will whet their appetite a little more, so that tomorrow they will feast without restraint.'
'The blood of the enemy will be a rich sacrifice for God and his Holy Church,' the captain of the guard replied. 'Amen.'
'Amen.'
Upon reaching the edge of the camp, the two rode on, following a trail which led to a nearby hill where three men on horseback waited. 'Hail and welcome, Basileus!' called the foremost of them, riding forward to greet his sovereign with a kiss. The other two offered the imperial salute and waited to be addressed.
