East of Ashes (13 page)

"Here we go," Othniel said as the convoy came to a halt.

Lamech strained to see what was going on but the three Crusaders were lost in a cloud of dust. A commander barked orders at the front of the column, but Lamech could not make out what he was saying. Clearly it was not aimed at them though, because only four soldiers followed the other three while the remainder of the convoy stayed behind.

"The second group will trail the first and come back to get us if we are needed," Othniel explained.

While they waited, Lamech studied the faces around him. Here and there he saw signs of pent-up energy - hands tightening on reigns, soldiers slightly shifting in their seats - but for the most part they were waiting patiently.
Either they have nerves of steel or they've been through quite a bit
, Lamech thought. Then he grunted when he realised how obvious the answer was.

After a few minutes, the seven Crusaders returned. Flung over the back of a couple of horses Lamech could make out the bodies of two captives with their arms tied behind their backs. Upon arriving at the group, the soldiers conferred briefly with their commander and then threw the bound Caracen scouts on the ground.

Stepping over to where they lay, the commander pulled his sword from its scabbard and plunged it through the belly of one of the captives. The bound captive doubled over and screamed in pain while the other watched with bulging eyes and horror written all over his face.

The commander cleaned his sword on the tunic of the second captive, while looking him in the eyes while doing so, and then motioned with his hand to one of the horses and issued a command. Two of the Crusaders grabbed the second prisoner and flung him back on the horse. His partner lay writhing and screaming in pain as his blood soaked into the dusty ground.

With the prisoner secured on the horse, the convoy started moving again. Before getting back on his horse, the commander kicked the wounded soldier in the back, forcing him to roll over onto his stomach.

As they passed the Caracen soldier, Lamech could see that in between his screams he was trying to turn his head so as to not choke in the dust. His wound apparently made it difficult for him to roll onto his back again.

He looked at Othniel questioningly: "Why kill the one? And why not just lop off his head? Why leave him screaming on the ground with a wound that won't kill him quickly?"

"Because his friend will remember this. He'll be hearing him scream long after we're out of earshot. And when they start to interrogate him, he'll talk much sooner than he would have otherwise."

Dumbstruck by horror, Lamech could only stare at Othniel.

"I know. I don't like it either," Othniel said simply.

As they rode in silence for the rest of the way, Lamech wasn't sure who'd hear the screams the longest: the dying scout's comrade, or himself.

CHAPTER 7

--- Antioch, November 1097 ---

The city was unlike anything he could have imagined. Even from afar the magnificent walls snaking up the side of Mount Silpius were visible, stretching along the top before dropping down again to the other side and encircling the city that lay at its base.

The sheer
transcendence
of it left Lamech breathless.

He stared up at the citadel at the very top of the mountain which kept a watchful eye on the city below. Even if the city were to be taken, its garrison c
ould
retreat to the citadel from where they could continue to menace the attackers.

Though it would be difficult to conquer Antioch, taking the defenders' last remaining fortress w
ill
be sheer hell
, Lamech thought grimly.

Othniel smiled when he saw Lamech's face. "One thing at a time," he said. "Let's get to camp first."

His words brought Lamech's attention back to the Crusader camp that was sprawling in front of Antioch's walls. It looked impressive enough, but from what Othniel had told him earlier, he knew they were only enough to keep Antioch partially encircled.

Banners carrying the red cross of the Crusader army stood everywhere, gently swaying in the light breeze coming up from the sea. Soldiers walked around, going about their business. Others stood talking softly in groups.

The camp generated much less noise than he had expected.

He turned to Othniel: "Why's everything so quiet?"

"You should have seen it when we first arrived," Othniel answered. "It was mad - people were singing and dancing late into the night." He chuckled ruefully: "I guess you could say everyone has begun to realise we might be stuck here for a while."

Turning to look at the camp once more as they drew closer, Lamech noticed something else.

"Where are all the horses?" he asked surprised.

"We're riding them," Othniel answered, "And not for much longer - once we reach the camp they'll soon be taken from us."

Lamech looked at him with a blank stare. Othniel inclined his head to the side in acknowledgement and continued: "We had some very tough times on our way here. Food became very scarce. There wasn't always enough to keep both soldiers and horses fed. Some of the horses starved, others kept us from starving. The ones we're riding now are pretty much all that
is
left in the entire army."

Othniel seemed momentarily lost in memory as he gazed at the approaching camp, but then continued: "Before we set out to meet you at St Simeon, Bohemond rounded up as many horses as he could find and gave them to us. He deemed it crucial that we have the ability to move fast."

"Good thinking," Lamech replied.

"Definitely," Othniel agreed. "It's a pity we can't keep them when we reach the camp; a knight without a horse is half a soldier. Still, we've managed to adapt."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't," Lamech said pointedly.

The soldiers in the camp began to notice the new arrivals, the joy on their faces more likely due to the equipment and supplies they were carrying than the few extra soldiers.

As they rode into camp, Lamech noticed the telltale signs of a long campaign all around him.

After the initial joy had dissipated from their faces, the soldiers looked at him with dead eyes and hollow cheeks. Some of the Crusaders had brought their families with them on the campaign. What children were to be seen in the camp had gaunt little faces and scrawny figures, while the woman looked haggard.

The soldiers themselves looked no better. Some were limping, while others had hands or even arms missing. Lamech had trouble believing what he saw. This was not the glorious army of heaven that he had been told about.

Still, as he watched the Crusaders, he was struck again by the same thing he had seen at St Simeon: Although their outward appearances told a tale of an army ready to crumble and be overrun, there was something radiating from them.

Whether it was the glory of God or misplaced zeal, Lamech could not surmise, but he had the unnerving suspicion that this motley crew would transform into an incredibly lethal and efficient bunch when the call to battle came.

Lamech followed Othniel to their part of the camp, weaving between tents and makeshift shelters. Halfway through the camp they had to surrender their mounts to a group of soldiers, just as Othniel had said.

Finally they reached their part of the camp, wedged between Bohemond's camp and the Northern French contingent in front of the St Paul Gate to the north of Antioch.

When they had set out from St Simeon, Lamech had been given a choice of which faction he would like to join, seeing as he had not yet sworn allegiance to one of the princes making up the council leading the Crusader army.

He had been surprised to hear that the army was not led by one single commander, but instead was made up by a group of princes who made decisions together. Bohemond of Taranto, wh
om
Othniel had spoken of before, was a member of this council.

At first Lamech was of a mind to join up with Bohemond because he liked the idea of following someone who knew what he was doing in battle, but in the end he decided to follow Othniel's example instead and stick things out on his own a little longer.

Judging by the look on the Crusader's faces when he declined to choose sides, it was quite clear to Lamech that Othniel was right: a considerable amount of politics was at play in this army, which reinforced his decision to go at it alone.

Well, not entirely alone, Lamech smiled to himself as he looked at Othniel leading the way on foot to a circle of tents. His first acquaintance among the Crusaders
wa
s proving to be a very valuable source of information and direction.

When they arrived at their camp, Othniel quickly introduced
Lamech
to the other knights making up their little corner of the army. Shaking the hand of each of them, Lamech was surprised to feel instantly welcome among them. There clearly was no sense of hierarchy among them, something which Lamech seriously doubted could be found anywhere else among the Crusaders.

After he offloaded his gears, he joined the others at the campfire as the sun began to set. Thanks to the supplies brought by the Genoese fleet, their supper that evening was more nourishing than anything the soldiers had apparently enjoyed since long before arriving at Antioch. Being part of the group who brought these delights made Lamech somewhat of a guest of honour for the evening.

"So what are you running from?" a burly soldier named Aubré suddenly asked Lamech, without so much as blinking.

Othniel choked in his broth, swallowed hard and then burst out laughing with the others as he saw the incredulous look on Lamech's face.

When Lamech saw the sly grin spreading on Aubré's face, he couldn't help but smile.

"You sure know how to catch a man off guard," he chuckled.

When the laughter had subsided, Othniel explained: "Aubré here believes it's better to fight alone than to fight with someone you can't trust."

Aubré was now smiling from ear to ear. "No sense in fighting alongside a man if you don't know where he's been," he answered.

Lamech nodded his head in agreement: "I'm guessing that's why you became a member of this distinguished bunch - nobody else trusted you either!"

His words triggered a new bout of laughter, with Aubré just shaking his head in mock consternation.

"At least with these
men
I can trust them to be untrustworthy," he shot back.

The laughter continued as Aubré brandished his knife in a teasing attempt to stab Othniel in the back,
to
"get it over with," while two of the others hung onto his legs to stop him. In the process, Aubré's pants came undone and he stood there swinging his knife around in the air with his one hand while trying to keep his pants up with the other.