Beloved Pilgrim (38 page)

Neither Elisabeth nor Ranulf could sleep. As
they sat together on the ground, he spoke his own thoughts to her.
He saw over and over in his mind Ragnar's death, saw the grin on
the Dane's face as the Turk's weapon came down and destroyed
him.

"I told you Thomas is dead. I could not see
how it could be otherwise. I went to find him among the wounded
being treated by what healers they had, but had no luck. He was
also not among the known dead. He was nowhere to be found, probably
out there on the strip of battlefield the Turks hold now, lying in
his own blood."

He went on almost absently to describe how
Ruggiero's body lay leagues and leagues away, picked clean to the
bones by carrion birds and animals.

Elisabeth could guess what went through his
head once he fell silent. Ranulf was alone. Well and truly alone.
The reason to go on seemed like a gossamer thread now. What matter
that he had broken his promise to the woman in Mainz. His guilt,
his desire for redemption meant three good men, his friends, were
dead. She could see that he fingered the ring, Ruggiero's ring, in
his pouch. She hoped he would try to stay alive at least long
enough to get it to the Italian's widow.

She became aware that off to one side of the
camp men were stirring. Ranulf looked distractedly in that
direction, but it was dark and what fires there were lay between
them and the sounds. Most likely some knights and perhaps even one
of the leaders were deserting. After the desertions of the day
before, the fact that other knights and soldiers might find the
cover of dark convenient to slip away did not surprise either of
them. Aloud, she idly wondered who it was. They could hear horses
being saddled. Sometime after, men mounted these horses and rode
off to the north. It was not a large force, perhaps two or three
dozen men, all mounted, and the two lost interest. Her own complete
lack of desire to desert and leave her comrades' bodies behind
preoccupied her.

Dozing, propped up on their saddles, they
woke at the sounds of angry voices. It was just before dawn, she
gauged by the light to the east. They listened to the growing
tumult of shouts. There was disbelief in them, outrage. Elisabeth
watched Ranulf as he stretched, dragged himself to his feet,
relieved himself where he stood, and, picking up his helm, walked
toward the gathering crowd with it under his arm. She tried to keep
her eye on him, but her head was full of mush. She pieced together
what she could observe with difficulty.

The people encircled the area where Ranulf
remembered one of the noble leaders of the pilgrimage had his tent.
The people standing between him and the tent were shaking their
fists in the air, arguing with each other in clumps, shouting abuse
and obscenities. When Stephen of Blois and the Count of Burgundy
came up, Ranulf took advantage of the crowd parting to follow
them.

In the space before the tent, which Ranulf
now recalled belonged to the supreme leader of the pilgrimage,
Count Raymond of Toulouse, the two Stephens entered the circle of
angry faces to find their worst suspicions confirmed. Raymond and
all of his Provençal knights, gone. The tent was still there. When
Blois walked to it and pulled aside the entry flap, Ranulf could
see that the furnishings remained, the camp bed, the carpets, a
couple chests, but there was no sign of the great hero of
Antioch.

"Abandoned!" a high-ranking cleric screamed,
shaking his fist in the Duke of Burgundy's face. He proceeded to
drown the man with invective laced with ecclesiastical threats and
condemnation. Stephen winced and turned away without attempting to
respond.

Blois came back to him from the flap of the
tent. He went to the Count's side, both their backs to the cleric.
They spoke agitatedly for a while, too far from Ranulf for him to
hear their words. Ranulf glanced over at Odo, who immediately began
arguing with the cleric, whose face was still pale but rigid as a
stone carving. As Ranulf watched his face began to soften, his
lips, cheeks and eyes to droop. Finally he slumped visibly and
nodded at the Count of Burgundy. He realized what they were
discussing and shivered.

As he left the mass of people, he saw Conrad
making his way in.

By midmorning the camp was in an uproar.
Knights from all factions packed up their gear and prepared to
leave. Ranulf found Elisabeth with Albrecht.

As soon as she saw him, she dashed to him.
"We are retreating!" she called, her voice a mix of disbelief and
guilty relief. "Will the Turks let us go?"

Ranulf did not reply. Instead he walked to
where Albrecht was sitting up and gazed long and dourly at him.

"Well?" Elisabeth demanded.

He remained silent. His eyes swept the camp.
The noncombatants were as busy packing up as the knights and the
infantry. His look was speculative.

Elisabeth grew quiet, watching and then
following his eyes. "Oh God, you aren't thinking . . . " Her voice
trailed off in horror.

He nodded. "I am afraid so."

Elisabeth's voice sounded like a young boy's,
almost like a woman's. "What do we do?"

"What is there to do?" he asked softly after
a short silence.

She looked about, then down at Albrecht.
Finally she looked at the people in the camp, the women, children,
old men and old women, and the wounded. Again she voiced the
question she had asked him. "Will the Turks let us go?" This time
it was not a demand. This time it was spoken without a spark of
hope.

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
"They will just be glad to see the back of us. They will let us
go," he said with all the certainty he did not feel. He bowed his
head. "Has Conrad said anything about his plans?"

"I don't know. I've been here all morning,
and no one has come in here to tell us what is going on." She
looked at Albrecht, deep lines of worry etching her features.

Ranulf leaned and slapped Albrecht on his
arm. "I had better go get my horse ready. Shall we try to meet here
before we set out? I have no place with any of the armies anymore.
And I know you two will want to leave together."

"Here is a good place. I will get the horses
ready and come back. I want to help these families prepare to
leave."

Ranulf nodded sadly, "I will as well."

A short distance away the Turks and
Danishmend were preparing for whatever the day would bring. At
first the preparations for departure looked no different from
preparations for battle, but as it became apparent the pilgrims
were getting ready to retreat, the sound of cheers broke out all up
and down the camp. They expected to win this day, but the ease of
it and the chance for plunder becoming certain made Seljuk and ally
hearts sing.

Leading Gauner carefully through the emptying
soldiers' camp Elisabeth, who could not find Albrecht's horse,
Carlchen, saw the beginning of the exodus. She frowned as she saw
Stephen of Blois set out north with his household knights and noble
clerics ensconced in their midst. "Not even a benediction," she
thought.

Only a little while later as she helped an
old woman strap her meager belongings to a sumpter mule she saw
Stephen and Odo of Burgundy and their parties ride off after them.
The infantry was still preparing to leave. Men came among their
families to help them. She had not seen Conrad yet.

"Elias!" a voice called from behind her. She
whirled to see Black Beast hurrying through the milling crowd of
camp followers. "Conrad says to get back to our camp. We're heading
for the Black Sea."

She stood rigid with the news that Conrad had
joined the retreat. She did not blame him. It would be suicide to
stay, but some part of her expected him, wanted him to take a more
heroic stand than had the Franks, Normans and Italians. She looked
into the big man's face. "I'm staying with these people, the
wounded. They need our help."

The Beast scowled at her. "These would not be
the first wounded to be left behind. How does it serve to damn
ourselves along with them?"

A spark in her eye accompanied her words. "It
seems to me that not helping them is what will damn us."

He flinched. In a quieter voice he told her,
"Gerhardt is dead. Alain already left with the Burgundians."

She looked away, her face contorted. "How did
Gerhardt die?"

"I found out that he took a wound as we rode
back from that pitiful little village. He never even got to fight.
He died after we got here. I am surprised you did not know. I
suppose you were with those mercenaries."

She lifted her chin. "You mean my friends.
Yes, but now all of them but their captain are dead as well."

He stared at her from under his bushy black
eyebrows. He reached out his hand. "And soon you will be as well,
young Elias. It has been an honor to be your comrade, if not one of
your friends."

She felt the feminine impulse to soothe him,
to reassure him she was his friend, but she steeled herself. She
reached out and they stood, clasping each other's hands, looking
directly into each other's eyes. Each stepped back and made a sharp
salute. Black Beast gave her one last look of regret and spun and
walked away.

"What are you doing, Elisabeth?" Albrecht,
who stood unevenly at her side, asked.

She shot him a glare. "That's 'my lord,' if
you please."

Albrecht took an involuntary step backward.
He was about to say something else when they both heard the
ululating battle cries of the Seljuk.

The crowd of noncombatants started to scream.
Some began to look desperately for somewhere to run. The fighting
men who had come back to their families seemed unable to decide
whether to get back to their positions or to stay and try to
protect them. Children, separated from their parents in the sudden
panic, stood and wailed.

"Dear God in Heaven," she breathed. "They are
attacking. Quick, get up on Gauner. I will mount behind you."

"No! Take my horse!" Ranulf came up to them
as quickly as he could make his way through the panicking
crowds.

"You need your horse!" she screamed back.

"No, I am staying to guard the rear. There
are plenty of horses without riders. I can get one." He spun and
picked up a woman holding a small child and hoisted them both to
his saddle. "If you take my horse now you and Albrecht can help a
few of these people to escape."

The woman, terrified, twisted out of his arms
as she landed atop the horse, slid off the other side and ran
screaming away from them. He growled but urged Elisabeth to mount
Gauner, then helped Albrecht onto his own horse. Going back to
Elisabeth he reached into the front of his brigandine and drew out
a small sack. He handed it to her once she was in the saddle. "This
is Ruggiero's ring. I don't have anything from Ragnar or Thomas.
But there's gold in the purse too. Give it to some church for
masses for Rachel's soul. But don't tell them she was a Jew."

"Get up behind me, Ranulf. Gauner can carry
us both."

"No, you need to be free to use your weapons.
If you can save someone, good, but I need to stay and protect these
people." He slapped Gauner's rump, turned and ran away.

Gauner danced around in a circle reacting to
the slap. As she looked at his retreating back she lifted her eyes.
"Oh my God!"

The Turks were hurtling toward the camp. The
men-at-arms had gone, though as she looked over she could see the
rear of their lines heading north. She realized that the people in
the camp had no hope. They would be cut down to a person.
"Albrecht, let's go!" she screamed as she hunted for someone to
rescue. A wounded soldier limped to her. "Albrecht, take this man
on your horse!" she shouted as she kicked Gauner to the woman who
had fled Ranulf. The woman now understood and let herself be pulled
up behind Elisabeth. The Knight of Winterkirche led the way in the
direction of the infantry, allowing herself one glance over her
shoulder. She saw Ranulf standing facing the onslaught of Turks,
his sword raised to meet them. She could not watch what she was
sure happened next.

The Paynim forces rode into the camp, taking
time to butcher all the men and the old women as they tore through
it. Elisabeth and her companions did not see it, but they could
hear the screams and cries, the triumphant shouts of the enemy. A
number of mounted men corralled and restrained all the remaining
women and children. Old women and men were useless, more trouble
than they were worth, but the women and children would fetch good
prices in the slave markets. Some of the women would wind up as
concubines or even wives of Seljuk and Danishmend commanders.

As Elisabeth and Albrecht with their burdens
tore around the infantry to try to regain the mounted Germans,
those enemy horsemen not preoccupied with the spoils of the camp
pursued the Christian foot soldiers. These men, with no better
means to escape then their own weary legs, started to drop
everything they were carrying. From helms to armor to weapons and
finally to their valuables and prizes, they abandoned anything they
thought would slow them down. All of it was left behind to enrich
the Turks. What they did not drop did as well anyway, as the enemy
caught up and cut down everyone they could catch. The screams of
fury and pain matched the volume of the shouts of triumph and
bloodthirsty glee.

Of the thousands who arrived in Byzantium,
mostly knights escaped. The infantry, the camp followers and the
common clerics were slaughtered or carried off to become slaves.
The total survivors could not have numbered much more than six
score, mostly nobles and their households. Among them the only
peasants were the few that knights like Elisabeth and her squire
took pity on.

While Saint Gilles and his party found a ship
at the Byzantine port of Bafra that would take them fairly quickly
to Constantinople, the rest of the leaders with the few who
survived in their parties fought their way across the Halys and
then headed north to the town of Sinope. There they turned west
along the coastal road toward the Sublime Port.