The Black Rood (28 page)

Roupen nodded. “That is why nobody knows much about them. They are very secretive. In fact, I have heard it said they will kill themselves rather than be taken by an enemy. If they die fighting for God, they go instantly to paradise. At least,” he shrugged again, “that is what they believe.”

Just then, one of the sailors called out that land had been sighted. Yordanus emerged a short while later, and the old trader lurched across the deck to stand squinting in the sunlight and gripping the rail with both hands.

The three of us joined him, and I told Yordanus it was good to see him above deck. “The air will do you good,” Padraig added.

The old trader gazed across the wide stretch of water at the hazy wrinkle of hills in the blue distance. “I have not set foot on the mainland since leaving Damascus,” he told us. “I did not think I ever would again.”

“Sydoni told me about your troubles,” I said.

He turned sad, misty eyes to me. “Did she?” he asked doubtfully. “Then I am amazed.” He looked away again. “That is the first time she has spoken of it to anyone.”

W
E REACHED THE
mainland after dark and stood offshore during the night, continuing up along the coast the next morning. The sun had but quartered the pale, cloudless sky when the pilot sighted the river mouth and, as the ship made the short run in, Padraig and I quickly became very busy with ropes and sails and suchlike. When I finally had a chance to look up, I saw a wide, shallow-channeled estuary opening out into the sea between two steep banks.

Above the river on the high right bank stood the village of Marionis, its tight clusters of tiny blue-domed houses dazzling white in the bright sun. Seeing that the ship meant to stop, a number of villagers leapt into small boats and rowed out to meet us; the first of these enterprising souls now clamored for our attention. Yordanus hired two sturdy craft to ferry us to shore, and we soon found ourselves standing in the tiny market square, haggling over the price of mutton.

The old trader rose magnificently to the challenge of bartering for supplies. Truly, he relished the cut and thrust of the exchange with a zeal I had rarely seen in anyone half his age. He conducted the bargaining in Greek and I soon noticed that, although he put on a formidable countenance, he always settled on a price higher than he might have got if he had pressed a little harder.

“They are farmers and goat herders mostly—not wealthy merchants,” he said when I asked him about this later. “Life
is hard in the villages. If I give them a little more, they will go home with joy in their hearts; and tonight when they pray, their prayers will be for me. I am a rich man. I need all the prayers I can get.” He smiled, his pleasure expanding by the moment. “Besides, you never know when you must come back this way again. Sow a little goodwill now, who knows what you might reap tomorrow, eh?”

By midday, he had concluded his business and stood with satisfaction before a mound of provisions: big round wheels of bread, several clay jars filled with salted olives, a haunch of fresh mutton, slabs of dried meat and fish, four live chickens bound in pairs by the feet, two bags of flour and jars of oil, round pots of soft goat cheese, and garlanded strands of onions, and bunches of fresh root vegetables of a kind I had never seen before. Also, there was wine—no fewer than five large jars bound in baskets woven of dried river reeds.

At Yordanus' direction, the boys of the village took up the bags and jars and chickens and bread and all the rest and started down to the river. Padraig and I stood atop the bank and watched as the long line of bearers snaked its way from the village square and down the muddy earth track to the water's edge where the various items were loaded into the two boats Yordanus had hired.

Their work completed, the old trader gave each boy a piece of silver, and they raced back to their homes shouting ecstatically. We joined Roupen and Yordanus by the boats. “Mamistra is two days by river,” Yordanus was saying as we came up, “maybe three this time of year. It has been a long time since I was there. A man I know trades horses and pack animals, and we will get a good deal—if he is still there.”

“Anazarbus lies ten days beyond that,” Roupen reckoned. “We will never make it in time.” Since leaving Cyprus, he had grown increasingly anxious. His normally pale aspect was, if possible, even more pallid and strained. I knew he was worried about reaching home to warn his people of Bohemond's attack, and although we had lived with that threat for many days the distress was finally beginning to tell on him.

Yordanus looked up into the bare brown hills beyond the town and tapped his lower lip with a long forefinger. He
thought for a moment, and said, “An army can only travel as fast as its footmen. We have made a fair start; even if they ran all the way they could not overtake us now. We will reach Anazarbus long before Bohemond, never fear.”

Roupen, unconvinced, climbed into the boat and sat down, eager to commence the journey as soon as possible. The rest of the provisions were quickly stowed, and we were ready to cast off. “Someone is missing,” Padraig said, counting heads. “Where is Sydoni?”

“She was in the market when we left,” I recalled, and offered to go fetch her. I hurried back up the hill to the village, passed among the houses and once more into the square. She was nowhere to be seen, but three of the boys who had helped carry supplies pointed to a house, and I saw two old women and three or four young girls standing before the house looking in through the open door.

I walked over to the house and looked in, too, and saw a bare room with a freshly swept floor of beaten-earth and a single table against one wall. Sydoni stood in the center of the room holding a length of cloth to her body as another woman tucked it up here and there around her. Meanwhile, a third woman, perhaps the mother of the first, sat at a loom in the corner directing this activity; and all three were chattering away at the same time in Greek, oblivious to all else.

Moving into the doorway, I rapped on the doorpost with my knuckles, and Sydoni looked up, saw me, and smiled. It was a smile of recognition and welcome, but also of supreme and unassailable confidence—a woman secure in her domain, completely at ease allowing me a glimpse of it.

“The provisions are loaded, and we are ready to leave,” I told her.

“In a moment,” she said, and resumed her appraisal of the cloth, ignoring me until she had concluded her business. She passed the cloth back to the woman, who folded it carefully, tied it with a length of rag, and placed it on a bare shelf high up on the wall, then handed Sydoni what appeared to be a length of carved willow wrapped in coarse white cloth.

Sydoni then took her leave. The two women followed her out of the house and bade her farewell, each kissing her on
both cheeks. We started off across the square, and the elder woman called to one of the young girls outside the house who fell in behind us. “We are to have an escort,” I said. When Sydoni did not answer, I pointed to the cloth-wrapped stick. “What have you there?”

“This?” she said almost absently. “Watch.”

Taking the carved end of the slender rod, she lightly shook out the cloth to reveal a wooden ring which had been hidden in the folds of the cloth. Grasping this ring, she slid it up along the length of the rod; as she did so, the most remarkable thing happened. The thin cloth blossomed out into a large round disc and stretched itself across a cunning latticework of split cane. She fixed the ring somehow and the cloth remained taut.

“What is it?” I said, regarding the strange sail-like object.

Sydoni took one look at my astonished expression and laughed out loud. The sound was magic—a warmly female sound, full of expression and gaiety, gently superior, but lacking any hint of scorn or ridicule. “Have you never seen a sunshade?” she laughed.

“A sunshade,” I repeated, happy to be the fool if it provoked such a delightful sound. “Is that what it is?”

Still laughing, she asked, “What do the women of your land use when they travel about?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“Then how,” Sydoni demanded in disbelief, “do they keep the hot sun from wrinkling their skin and making them old before their time?”

“So rarely does the sun shine,” I replied, “people welcome it rather than hide from it.”

“Are you saying the sun never shines?” She looked at me askance. “I do not believe you.”

“Truly,” I insisted. “When the men and women of Scotland see the sun it is a cause for celebration. No one would think of shielding themselves from its warmth and light.”

“Then I hope I never go there,” she replied emphatically. “It sounds a dark and dismal place.”

Inexplicably, her words were like a stab in the heart; I felt a sharp pang of regret for having spoken of my homeland in
such a way as to invite her disdain. “How is this sun device employed?” I asked.

“Like this,” she said, raising the slender rod and resting it lightly on her shoulder. Her face, neck, and shoulders were now cast into the shadow of the disc-shaped shade. “See?”

“Clever,” I allowed. “Why not just wear a hat?”

Since coming to Outremer, I had seen many wide-brimmed hats made of stripped reed or woven straw. They seemed more than able to provide the service of a sunshade. “
Peasants
wear hats,” Sydoni replied. “Here, try it,” she said, handing the thing to me.

I did as I had seen her do. The sight of a foreign man using a sunshade proved too much for our young escort, who was promptly seized by a fit of giggles and laughed all the way to the boat. I returned the object to Sydoni, who walked merrily beside me, spinning the circle of cloth and humming lightly. For the second time in as many days, I luxuriated in the unexpected intimacy of her cheerful companionship.

Upon arriving at the boat, Sydoni informed her father that she had purchased a mantle to be made by one of the women in the village and instructed him to pay the girl, who would take the money back to her mother. Yordanus counted a few silver coins into the girl's hand. “And for the sunshade, too,” she said, and he tossed in a few more.

Then, under the watchful eyes of the people of Marionis, we climbed into the boats and began the slow, easy voyage upriver to Mamistra. Padraig and I shared the rowing chores with the two men from the village, relieving them when they began to tire. In this way, we worked our way along the winding river course. We spent the first night on a gravel shingle in the middle of the river with nothing overhead but the star-laden sky.

The second night we camped in a grove of fig trees planted beside the river and, as the sun went down on the third day we arrived at Mamistra. Leaving Padraig and Roupen to help the boatmen unload the boats, Yordanus and I went into the town early the next morning to search out his horse-trading acquaintance.

Along the way, we stopped a farmer with a piglet under his arm and asked him if he knew of anyone thereabouts who raised or traded in horses. The farmer squinted his eyes, scratched a bristly jaw, shifted the piglet from one arm to the other, and at last said he might have heard of such a man. When Yordanus presented him with a silver denarius for his trouble, the farmer broke into a wide toothless grin and said, that, yes, he remembered now, the man he was thinking of was called Nurmal.

“Yes! The very fellow I was hoping to find. Where does he live?”

“I cannot say,” answered the farmer. “If I ever heard where he lived, I do not remember now.”

Yordanus plucked out two more denarii and placed them in the farmer's rough palm. “Does this help your memory?”

“No, my lord,” replied the farmer, eyeing the silver sadly. “I still do not know where he lives, but I know where you can find him.”

“Tell me,” said Yordanus, “and you can keep the silver.”

“There is a mill over there—” the farmer pointed beyond the town to a knoll surmounted by a windmill. “He buys grain and fodder there on market days.” Hefting his pig, he said, “Today is the market.”

We thanked the toothless fellow and sent him on his way rejoicing in his unexpected wealth. The mill was farther than it first appeared, and it took us some time to walk up the long, rocky slope. Only when we got to the top did we see that there was a road leading up from the other side. Nevertheless, we found a goat track and followed it, arriving at the mill from behind. The miller was a gruff man of few words, but more of Yordanus' silver loosened his tongue and we learned that Nurmal had not been there yet, but was expected some time during the day.

“I will wait here for Nurmal,” Yordanus suggested. “You go back and tell the others we have found our man. Nurmal and I will join you at the river.”

I did not like leaving him, but as I was walking from the yard, the miller's wife brought him out a bowl of milk to
drink. I left him sitting in the shade of the house, sipping cool milk and looking like a man for whom the world held no worries.

Padraig and the boatmen had unloaded the provisions under a tree; the boats were gone now, however, and Padraig was preparing food on a small fire at the river's edge. Sydoni was asleep in the shade of the tree, and Roupen sat on a rock nearby, knees drawn up under his chin, and gazing forlornly into the swirling brown water.

“All is well,” I said, settling on the rock beside him. “We are making fair speed. We
will
reach Anazarbus before Bohemond and his army, you shall see.”

“It makes no difference,” he muttered without looking up. “There are not enough soldiers in all of Armenia to repel the crusaders. They will slaughter us like dogs.”

“Roupen,” I said after a moment, “we will do what we can, and trust God for the rest.” I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “Hope and pray.”

“
You
hope,” he snarled, shoving my hand away. “
You
pray.”

I left him to his despair, and went to help Padraig cook the meal. We ate and dozed afterward, and the day grew hot. The sun soared through a sky bleached white with heat haze, and then began its long descent behind the dusty, sage-covered hills beyond Mamistra. Padraig and I were just discussing whether we should go back to the mill and look for Yordanus when we heard a horse whinny and there, coming down along the track leading into the town, was the old trader himself on a milk white stallion, riding beside another man on a black. Behind them rode two more men leading two horses each.

They reined up at the water's edge and while the two men watered the horses, Yordanus presented Nurmal, a smiling, graceful white-haired elder with a skin so brown it looked like polished leather. He wore the silken robes of an Arab potentate, and when he spoke, his long white mustache quivered with excitement.

“What do you think of my horses?” asked Nurmal when everyone had been properly introduced.

“They are wonderful,” I remarked. “In Scotland, not even kings own such fine horses.”