Shadows on a Sword (4 page)

Theo jabbed at the ground with his spear. All appetite for hunting had suddenly deserted him. This news would only make matters worse. At that moment, a shout rang out from the trees ahead of them, and a boar burst into the open, foam flying from its snout, eyes wild and red. It was headed straight for Amalric, who had his back to it.

“Watch out!” Theo realized that Amalric could not possibly turn and defend himself. He braced his feet, raised and threw his spear all in one quick, instinctive movement. The weapon took the animal cleanly behind the shoulder. The force of the boar’s charge was checked, but not stopped.

Amalric whirled around. The boar buried one razor-sharp tusk in Amalric’s thigh, jerked it out with a tearing, sideways movement of its head, then faltered. Theo pulled his killing dagger from his belt and leaped forward. He was aware of more shouts, but all his attention was on the crazed beast in front of him. Its musky stink filled his nostrils. He yelled. The boar turned and fixed its eyes on Theo. It swerved away from Amalric toward him. Theo raised the dagger high, side-stepped at the last possible moment and plunged the dagger deep into the animal’s throat. The boar gave a choking, gurgling snort and dropped to its knees. Its head fell to one side.

“That was
my
animal!”

Theo jerked his gaze away from the dying boar, startled by the shout. The knight he had defeated in the lists, Guy, was standing in front of him, spear held ready as if to throw at him.

“You had no right!”

“No right to defend myself? To defend my friend, your own cousin? Look what
your
animal did to him.” Theo shot the words back. The blood-thirst excitement of the danger they had been in, of the killing, roared through him still. He tore the dagger from the boar’s body and faced Guy with it. He almost wished the knight would take just one more step toward him.

Guy checked himself. He looked for the first time at Amalric, then turned back to Theo. His face contorted and he threw down his spear.

“You,” he snarled, ignoring Amalric. “I might have known it would be you.” He spun around and strode back into the woods. His groom, a nervous, bent little man, scurried out and snatched up the spear, eyes averted from Theo and Amalric. Apologies spilled out of him in incoherent fragments.

Theo took a deep breath, willing the storm within him to subside. “Your cousin certainly does not bear you much love,” he said finally.

“And less for you, I think,” Amalric answered. His words caught in his throat; his mouth twisted in pain.

Theo knelt quickly at his side. Blood was flowing from Amalric’s thigh. Theo ripped a piece from the sacking they had been carrying to hold the game, and bound it firmly in place over the wound. Their own grooms, who had been holding their horses in the clearing behind them, came to their aid. Theo helped Amalric to mount.

“We’ll get you back to camp,” he said. Then, with a sudden mischievous look on his face, he turned to his groom.

“William,” he said, “see that the boar is dressed and send it to Guy of Lorraine with my compliments.”

Amalric snorted, almost laughing in spite of the pain. “Not a wise thing to do, my friend,” he said.

Theo grinned.

By the end of November, they had reached Semlin. Godfrey had kept order; there had been no trouble. The knights and men of Godfrey’s army knew very well that his were not empty threats. Thanks to King Coloman, food and supplies were plentiful, and this generosity helped to offset the resentment his troops caused. Still, Theo and Amalric, whose wound had healed well, hunted in the evenings—for the sport and companionship as well as for the food. Amalric had never actually brought himself to thank Theo for saving his life, but there was a respect in his manner now that made Theo feel he was safe from further teasing or humiliation. He still did not speak of Emma, though. The feelings he had for her were too private to share, even with Amalric. Besides, he had not yet figured out exactly what those feelings were. There would be time enough when he saw her again to try to make sense of them. Amalric, for his part, seemed to have forgotten Baldwin and his entourage entirely.

Theo made a point of keeping out of Guy’s way. Guy, in turn, seemed no more inclined to meet Theo. He had never acknowledged the gift of the boar, but Theo doubted that he had eaten it. Thrown it to the dogs, more likely.

They were on the Byzantine frontier now. As soon as they crossed the Save River, they would be out of Hungary, and the hostages would be returned. News had it that Baldwin and all his family were well taken care of, but the knot of unease in Theo’s mind still did not loosen. It would only unravel when Emma was free and he could see her again.

Late in the afternoon of their last day in Hungary, Amalric suddenly appeared at Theo’s tent. William had just set flint to tinder to start the cookfire to boil the evening stew.

“Don’t bother with that,” Amalric cried out to Theo as he strode onto the campsite. “I’ve heard there’s a tavern in town that serves a wondrous ale and stew. I shall treat you to a feast.”

Theo hesitated for only a moment. The turnips and bit of meat in his pot suddenly looked much less appetizing. Besides, he had not yet had a chance to go into the town, although men had been allowed in, in small groups.

“Done,” he agreed. “This stew is all yours, William.” He sprang to his feet to accompany Amalric.

As they approached the town of Semlin, Theo looked up at the walls. Here, the arms and clothing of sixteen of Walter Sans-Avoir’s men, who had robbed a bazaar, had been hung as a warning to Peter the Hermit’s troops. The men had been driven out of the city, naked. It had been a futile warning. The story had been told all over camp before the crusaders had even reached Hungary: how it had only inflamed Peter’s followers, and how a dispute over a pair of shoes had escalated into a riot. Peter’s men had pillaged the city, leaving four thousand dead. Peter had only managed to save his army by beating a hasty retreat over the Save River, out of the Hungarian kingdom. It was no puzzle why King Coloman had been hesitant to let this new wave of crusaders through.

“I wonder that we would be welcome anywhere within those walls,” Theo said.

“A man with money to spend is welcome anywhere,” Amalric answered. “The widow who runs the tavern is a friendly sort, they say, and harbors no grudge as long as her customers pay their bills and keep the peace. Besides, she suffered no harm from the crusaders before us. She will make us welcome, be assured of it.”

The tavern was overflowing with customers, many of them knights such as themselves, dressed in the rough homespuns of the north. For the most part, these knights were hearty men with simple tastes. They were relaxing after their long march, reveling in the good food and drink, and the warmth. As Theo and Amalric thrust their way among the crowd, a solid wall of smoke and smells hit them. A huge fire at one end of the timbered room blazed, welcome after the early winter chill outside, but contributing its own share to the thick fug within. The room was drowned in noise and loud, raucous laughter. A harried and slightly distraught young maid appeared soon after they had settled themselves at a long trestle table as near the fire as possible. She tucked a few strands of hair behind an ear with one hand, and wiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of the other. She gave them a wary glance, but smiled nonetheless.

“Your pleasure, my lords?” she asked, her words barely discernible above the clamor.

“Ale, my maid!” Amalric cried. “And food. We hunger for your good victuals.” She disappeared,with another smile and a more flirtatious glance at Amalric, and reappeared with tankards of ale. Platters of food soon followed, and within minutes Amalric and Theo were attacking a joint of venison and dipping chunks of coarse, hearty brown bread into a savory-smelling stew. Theo hadn’t realized just how hungry he was.

It wasn’t until he had filled his belly that he sat back and took a look around. A group in one corner caught his attention. A young woman—a girl, really, probably not even as old as he—was sitting slumped against the wall. A child was sleeping on her lap. The child’s long, silver-fair hair was matted and dirty, and hung across her face. The girl’s head rested against the timbers behind her; her eyes were closed. Beside her, stretched out on the same bench, with limbs flung out in the loose abandonment of exhaustion, a young man also slept. A dog lay at their feet. They seemed to exist on a silent island of their own, separate from all the hubbub surrounding them.

The landlady bustled up at that moment to enquire if all was well with them.

“Who are those people?” Theo asked.

Her eyes followed his. Her smile dimmed and her brows drew together.

“Those poor young things,” she said. “With Peter the Hermit, they were—he that did such terrible things here last summer. There’s many who will have nothing to do with them because of it, but I say it wasnone of their doing, what those soldiers did. They’re just poor innocents who got caught up in the whole thing. They say nearly every soul who followed that mad monk was massacred, out there in the heathen lands. They’re the first ones we’ve seen back, and it’s a sorry state they’re in. If they did do any harm, they’ve certainly suffered for it.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “The wee one will not talk at all, just stares as if her wits are gone completely, and the boy … Well, he looks as if he’s walking with the devil himself.” She quickly made a sign to ward off evil. “The poor girl’s done in completely, but she’s determined to get them all back to her own land in Germany.”

The girl’s eyes suddenly opened. She looked straight at Theo, but her gaze was unfocused. Whatever she was seeing was not in that room. She sighed deeply, pulled the ragged cloak she wore more tightly around herself and the child on her lap, and then her lids fell shut again. One hand stroked the child’s brow, brushing the hair back out of the little girl’s eyes.

“Gave them some soup, I did.” The woman’s voice broke back in. “They didn’t have a copper to pay for it, of course, but they have been on the crusade. It was only Christian charity. The crusade’s a wondrous thing, the pope has said so himself—despite some evil men.” She crossed herself and bustled off.

“The crusade’s a wondrous thing.” It did not look as if it had been so wondrous for that small group. Theo stared at them until a nudge from Amalric nearly knocked him off the bench.

“This young wench has a friend who has taken a fancy to you, Theo,” he was saying. “Buy her a glass of mead. Show her a Christian knight’s courtesy, for mercy’s sake.”

Theo looked up. The maid who had served them was sitting beside Amalric, who had his arm comfortably around her, and another dark-haired girl was squeezing onto the bench beside them. She laughed and raised her eyes coquettishly to Theo. Their dark brightness gave him a momentary jolt, but they were not the dark eyes that he remembered so well. Suddenly, the miasma of the dark, crowded room sickened him. He couldn’t breathe.

“I must get back,” he said, rising to his feet so brusquely that his mug of ale almost tipped.

Amalric looked at him in surprise. “So ungracious, my friend? I would not have thought it of you.” The ale and the heat in the tavern had brought a flush to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Theo blurted out. The others stared at him as he turned and stumbled out.

The closer they got to the Save River, the more impatient Theo became, but finally, to his relief, they reached its banks. They crossed in all manner of boats and makeshift rafts, amid a chaos of wails and screams from frightened people, and lowing, bleating and neighing from even more terrified animals. The river was calm and not too wide, however, and despite the confusion no lives were lost, not even of livestock.

They reassembled on the other side and made camp outside Belgrade. The town lay silent and deserted. Peter’s men had sacked it in celebration of their escape from the Hungarians; the townsfolk had fled and had not returned. Permission was granted to go into the abandoned town, but few took advantage of it. There was nothing left, and the streets had an eerie, desolate appearance. Theo couldn’t shake the feeling that they were following in murderous footsteps, rather than progressing in triumph. As soon as they were camped, he hastened to find out if Emma had been released.

“Not yet,” his foster father told him when he asked. “Baldwin and his entourage are still with King Coloman. They are being well treated, I hear, and Baldwin is not overly anxious to leave. I expect they’ll be with us again soon, though. In the meantime, we will wait.” The count gave Theo a curious look, but before he could question him about this sudden interest in Baldwin’s affairs, Theo made a hasty excuse and left.

As the days went on and there was still no word of Baldwin’s release, Theo’s temper became shorter. William learned to avoid him except when absolutely necessary. Theo chafed against the enforced idleness in the camp. He was torn between a desire to get on with the journey, and the need to see Emma and make certain she was all right before they left. Meanwhile, Centurion had discovered the windfalls from the abandoned fruit trees in the orchards near where they were camped. He developed an insatiable appetite for them, plums in particular, and when he had eaten all the ones available on the ground, he devised his own unique way of procuring more of the late-season fruit that still hung on the branches. He ambled heavily up to a tree, leaned his massive weight against it and then bumped it. He was usually rewarded by a rain of fruit that he devoured, pits and all.

It was early in December, and winter was setting in, when they finally left, well rested and reprovisioned. Their way lay along the old Roman road; Centurion’s hooves slipped on the ancient stones. Theo rode looking back over his shoulder; Baldwin had not yet rejoined the crusade.

From Belgrade, they would head straight through the Serbian forest to Nish, where the governor, Nicetas, awaited them. He would further replenish their provisions, and provide an escort through the mountains to Sophia and then on to Constantinople. Within a month’s time they should be in the fabled city. Stories of its magnificence and grandeur ran the length and breadth of the camp.