Medi-Evil 3 (22 page)

 
“Half a day,” he said, reining up. “Our Saracen pet assures us.
Half a day to the river, and beyond that …
Uruk
.”
They said nothing, which seemed to displease him. “You’ve come this far, you ought at least to be glad we’ve arrived!”

 
Thurstan
spat.

 
“You miserable dogs,” de
Vesqui
sneered. “The wealth of ages awaits us … the treasure house of Persia … gold, silver. Mountains of it and all you can do
is
…” His words tailed off; he seemed as bewildered as he was sickened.
“To Hell with you all!”

 
He wheeled his horse about and cantered back. The trio plodded on in weary silence, though soon Ulf began to chuckle. “I always suspected our overlord was only partially a penitent man?”

 
“What does it matter?” Ramon grunted. “We swore fealty?”

 
“We’ve followed him half way across the world,” the boy replied. “I think we’ve exercised our fealty.”

 
“It’s not your place to think, Ulf.”

 
“No, of course not, when there are so many others here thinking for me.”
Suddenly Ulf was choking back tears – or would have been if there’d been sufficient moisture left in his body. “We raided Jerusalem in God’s name, but there were too many thieves to make it pay; so in the guise of penance we now raid
Uruk
.” He shook his head. “
The search for Eden
… I actually believed that!”

 
“There is no
Uruk
,”
Thurstan
said. “How could there be?
A city older than Babylon?
I’d be surprised if one brick stood on another.”

 
“So what are we doing here?” Ulf asked.

 
“I’d suggest you go back,” Ramon said. “I’d even knight you to make it lawful … but I don’t know which way is back. And then, of course …” and now it was his turn to chuckle; a crazy fluting sound, “then of course, our daemonic friend is back there somewhere.”

 
“I’m scarcely worried about that thing,” Ulf snorted. “It’s probably in awe of us,
demoralised
… it found out what we did in Jerusalem and
realises
it can’t compete …”

 
“Enough ranting!”
Thurstan
snapped.
“Enough of it!
Just save your breath. You might need it.”

 
Ulf hung his head and said no more. Neither of the men spoke either. Hours passed as they swayed aimlessly along, the sun a sphere of burnished brass directly above them. Only the crunch and crackle of broken, cinder-dry stones beneath their horses’ hooves could be heard – that and the occasional haunting cry of eagle or buzzard. Ahead, the horizon rippled as if oiled by the heat. The Leopard and his group were ghost-like in it, elongated, cut up into fragments, flattened and consumed as they crested some ridge and bore down the other side.

 
And it was then, roughly, that the first silvery chuckles of water made themselves known. The sound alone was refreshing,
revitalising
.

 
Ulf glanced up, his dusty mouth curved in a curious frown. “Is that
… ?”

 
“I think it is,” Ramon said. “God’s
bread, that
dog de
Vesqui
was telling the truth!” He urged his horse forward.

 
“Only about the river,”
Thurstan
cautioned, hanging back.

 
Ramon broke into a gallop. “The river’s enough.”
 

 
Ulf followed him and five minutes later they mounted a low ridge and beheld a wide shallow valley in the centre of which a river flowed – an enormous river; the mythical Euphrates, vast and brown and deeply swollen, but gliding mirror-smooth between steep shingle banks.

 
“Thank you, oh Lord, thank you!” Ulf prayed.

 
“Don’t thank Him yet,” Ramon said in a tight voice. He pointed down the slope. “What is
that
?”

 
Thurstan
, who had come up behind them, shielded his eyes and spurred his horse downhill in order to get a closer look. The others went too, but had only descended a dozen feet before the full ghastliness of what they were seeing became clear.

 
Thirty-four wooden poles, all about twelve feet tall, had been erected in a row on the river’s nearest shore. From the top of each was suspended the body of a man. The first eight were battlefield corpses, the men killed in the fight with the
Ashishin
– now decayed to carrion and thick with dust, for they’d been removed from their graves. The remaining twenty-seven were more
recognisable
. Arch-Deacon
d’Etoille
was among them, along with others who’d vanished during the trek across Arabia. These had been more freshly slain, and in most cases more brutally. Torn and ripped, as if by giant claws, they hung in blood-soaked tatters. Bird-pecked entrails were visible, shreds of muscle and sinew; spears of snapped bone jutted from jagged wounds.

 
Ulf swooned from his saddle, the gorge rising in his throat. Ramon dismounted and sank to his knees.
Thurstan
was lost for words – he closed his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the vision. Men died in war, that was taken for granted, but not like this: to be flayed, eviscerated, then displayed like scarecrows!
And what about the dead?
Dear God, it had even ploughed up the dead! What kind of monster was this?

 
“Have you ever known such a thing?” Ramon finally asked, his voice a whisper.

 
Thurstan
clambered from his saddle, shaking his head. Beyond the grisly exhibits, he spied a bridge; an extremely flimsy bridge – little more than sticks and rope – but spanning the river to its far shore. Beside it, there was a low granite pillar, to which three horses had been tethered.

 
He cursed. “I hoped the wretched thing had taken Count Gilles as well, and his son and their bloody guard-dog … but I doubt it would’ve tarried to secure the horses.”

 
Ramon spotted the animals too. He was confused. “Then … where are they?”

 
“Where do you imagine?”
Thurstan
laughed bitterly. “Beyond this river lies
Uruk
… the treasure house of ancient Persia.”

 
Ramon rose unsteadily to his feet. “He could leave these men like this? His own retainers … who’ve followed him half way across the world! He could leave them hanging here, just to find trove!” His voice rose to a hoarse shout. “How could he do that?
How?
”

 
But before
Thurstan
could answer, Ulf gave a hysterical scream:
“IT’S HERE! IT’S COME FOR US!”

 
The two knights spun around – and went cold.

 
On top of the slope behind them, the
djinn
had re-appeared in all its swirling ferocity, only now it seemed enraged, for it was red and seething as if dense crimson dust was mingled with it. With a howl of elemental fury, it swept down the hill towards them. Though it was still a hundred yards off, the horses shrieked and bolted. Ulf staggered backwards towards his two companions, though both of them were grey-faced with shock at the sight and fury of the monster

 
“It isn’t toying
any more
,”
Thurstan
said slowly. With sudden determination, he ripped the
longsword
from his scabbard. “Over the river with you both … hurry!”

 
Ramon stared at him. “What are you going to do?”

 
“My job.
As household champion, I must always be first into battle, last out.”

 
“Are you mad?”

 
“Remember Nicaea, Ramon … where our rearguard held the sultan at bay for a whole day.” He drew his dagger as well. “The siege-lines held, remember? The Turks were completely broken.”

 
“But this is a spirit,
a devil!
”

 
Blades
levelled
,
Thurstan
advanced.
“Away with you.
Don’t make my last glorious gesture a futile one.”

 
Ramon gazed dumbly after him, before turning to Ulf, who, waxy-white though he was, could only shake his head. “We can’t leave him, Ramon.”

 
The knight grabbed the boy by the shoulder and thrust him towards the bridge. “We must!”

 
Thurstan
had ridden countless jousts, fought many a duel to the death in the name of his overlord: land and tenure disputes, impeachment, trial-by-battle. But never had he met a foe like this. It roared and growled and spat out broken rocks as it thundered towards him. Since he’d last seen it, it had grown to immense proportions, expanding its height to thirty feet at least, its girth to fifteen. Even then, the sight of the warrior approaching seemed baffling to it. Its livid hues temporarily faded, the headlong charge faltered. Instead of coming mindlessly on, it slowed, shifting sideways as if circling, sizing him up before it attacked.

 
Thurstan
gave a belly-laugh and hefted his sword. “You don’t fancy this, hey? Maybe cold steel can hurt you after all.” He pulled up his coif, and sank to a crouch. The muscles bunched in his powerful legs. “They call my people ‘the sword-bearers of Christ’!” he shouted. “We fear no-one … Danes, Bretons, English, Franks. We’ve beaten them all! ”

 
The daemon surged towards him.
Thurstan
sprang to meet it.

*

The bridge over the Euphrates was a perilous thing to cross. It was so narrow that only one man could pass over it at a time. More worrying still, its planking had rotted in many places, while the hemp ropes were loose and frayed. The structure swung and creaked as they picked their way across. The river surface was only ten feet below, but it clearly ran deep and both Ramon and Ulf still wore mail. To make things worse, they were only half way across when a figure appeared at the far end, blocking their path. Ramon stopped, watching as the figure advanced onto the bridge.

 
“Who is that?” Ulf said from behind.

 
“De
Vesqui
,” Ramon replied. “And for some reason, his blade is drawn.” He didn’t need to turn and look to know that the safety of the western bank was a long way behind them. With a sigh, he loosened the strap on his sword-hilt. “Remind me, Ulf, if we ever get back to
civilisation
, that I am too old for stupid, foolish games like this!”

 
He
proceeded
, the boy following, but they’d only crossed two thirds of the bridge before de
Vesqui
stopped them. He now stood directly in front, grinning ghoulishly, the teeth very white in his bristling, dog-like face.

 
“Lord Gilles, Count of
Cerne
, Leopard of
Gerberoi
charges me with defending this position,” he said. “I am obliged to follow that order until further notice. Henceforth, none shall pass.”

 
“
Don’t be an imbecile
,” Ramon snapped. “Stand aside.”

 
“None shall pass!” de
Vesqui
reiterated, hefting his
longsword
. After so much battle, it was notched and scarred, but it still had a keen edge. More to the point, of course, the man wielding it was notoriously an expert; only
Thurstan
could match him, and that would be more through brute strength than genuine skill.

 
Reluctantly, Ramon drew his own sword. “I will tell you one more time, Aquitaine. I am Knight-Commander of
Cerne
, and you must step aside.”

 
De
Vesqui’s
response was an amused grin, a shake of his head, then a furious
chestwards
lunge

*

The Leopard and his son found
Uruk
all they had dreamed of, and more.

 
The moment they stepped out from the narrow gully in the low hillside, they were there – in the heart of ancient Sumer, the most celebrated citadel in all antiquity lying empty and open before them.