The Iron Lance (41 page)

In a last desperate attempt at winning the favor of the undecided peers, Raymond proposed a compromise which advocated that, as the cost in men and arms had been borne by those who freed the city, this cost should be repaid first, and the remainder of the treasure divided up equally, as they had all agreed in Constantinople.

On another day, this compromise might have been seen as a wise and just settlement by a competent ruler. But it was already too late. The lords and noblemen who had been roused by Godfrey's supporters were eager to get on with the proceedings; and the prospect of wading through the interminable wrangling over how much each lord and lordling should take out of the common purse filled them with tepid dread. Raymond's wise and just suggestion was regarded as demeaning the great charity of Godfrey's open-handed offer to include all equally.

Baldwin, sensing the opportune moment had come, rose amidst the noise and clamor of the assembly as they proclaimed their approval of Godfrey's plan. “My esteemed lords and fellow Christians,” he said, rapping on the board with the handle of his dagger. “It gratifies me right well to hear your praise of my brother. Therefore, it is with great good pleasure that I commend to your affirmation, our comrade and friend, Duke Godfrey of Bouillon.” He looked down the length of the table on both sides. “What say you, my lords?” He thrust out his hand towards his brother. “I give you King Godfrey!”

The chapel rang as the gathering roared its confirmation.
The nobles pounded the board with their hands and knife handles; some drew their swords and lofted them in the air. They cheered and shouted his name, and those nearest him raised him to his feet to address the acclaim. Smiling, gesturing benevolently, he received the jubilant tribute and, when the roar had abated, said, “I am stirred to my soul by your kind adulation, and declare before this lordly council that, with God's help and guidance, I will accept the charge you have laid on me.”

There were more cheers, and shouts of adulation. “God wills it!” they cried. “Godfrey is king! God wills it!”

When the shouts had subsided once more, Jerusalem's new monarch said, “Please, it is not fitting that any mortal should bear a sovereign's title in the city where the King of kings holds sway. Therefore, I beg you, do not lay upon me a greater rank than any mortal has a right to assume. If I am to reign in this place,” he turned pious eyes towards the altar, “let me rule by this title: Advocatus Sancti Sepulchri!”

Of all the things he might have said, this was by far the most fitting, and the gathering admired him all the more for it. In a stroke he had disarmed any remaining opposition and swept the field. “Hail Godfrey, Defender of the Holy Sepulchre!” they cried, and the chapel shuddered in thunderous acclaim.

Because all were preoccupied with the celebration of Godfrey's ascension, no one noticed the arrival of a small group of warriors dressed in battle array; their arms and legs were encased in figured metal; their burnished helmets were surmounted by white horsetails; gleaming loricas of overlapping metal plates encased their bodies; and each one carried a long, double-bladed lance. They were led by a man dressed in the same way, but wearing no helmet, and carrying no spear; instead, his lorica had gold fittings, and he wore a purple cloak.

The sudden appearance of the strange warriors silenced the
lords in full cry. They turned as one, and were startled to see this solemn apparition in their midst. Some drew swords and prepared to fight; others urged peace and calm. Only one or two of the crusade leaders recognized the figure at the head of this invading force. Godfrey was one of these.

“Peace and welcome,” he called, extending his hand towards the young commander and his Varangian troops. “I give you good greeting, Drungarius Dalassenus. Your presence here has somewhat taken us unawares.”

The commander bowed stiffly towards the altar, and to the western lords. “In the name of Alexius, Equal of the Apostles and Vice-Regent of Heaven, Holy Roman Emperor, Supreme Sovereign of All Christendom, I bring you greetings and congratulations on your estimable victory.” His thin smile faded as he proceeded directly to the reason for his abrupt intrusion. “The emperor has sent me to convey his laud for your magnificent achievement, and to prepare the way for the Holy City to be returned to the dominion of the empire.”

Jerusalem's new ruler stared at the intruder. Return the city to the emperor? Godfrey could see his prize receding as quickly as it had arrived. He had not even taken up his office, and already he was being deposed by the emperor.

Dalassenus pressed the slender advantage surprise had afforded him, and said, “Naturally, the emperor is pleased to offer you and your troops due reward from among the treasures you have secured. In token of his gratitude and good will, he has decreed that he will gladly undertake the payment of all expenses incurred by his vassals in the defense of the Holy City. What is more, Emperor Alexius has given me a free hand in determining how best to reward those who aid in the swift establishment of the imperial rule.”

A sound like the growl of a dog warning an intruder rumbled
around the table as the drungarius' demand sank in. The council bristled with menace and drew breath to shout the audacious interloper down. But Count Raymond, more mindful than most of their sworn obligations to the emperor, rose and said, “By your leave, Duke Godfrey, I beg the boon of answering this dictate.”

“Pray speak, sir,” replied Godfrey, glad for some help.

“Lord Drungarius,” said Raymond coolly, “it is right to remind us of the emperor's felicitous regard. Now that the crusade has reached its successful conclusion, it is right also to reflect on our obligations, and consider the aid we have had from the emperor.” Spreading his hands wide, the tall Frankish count said, “I know I speak for every man here when I say we are beholden to Emperor Alexius for all he has done on our behalf. Truly, we never could have finished the pilgrimage without his many thoughtful kindnesses.”

“Hear! Hear!” muttered some of the lords.

“Nevertheless,” Raymond continued, “I insist before this assembly that we must decline your demand. We, who have won this city, will undertake its protection and governance.” Raymond drew himself up full height. “In short, sir, the city will
not
be surrendered to imperial rule.”

Dalassenus stiffened. The moment he had feared more than any other had come. “I will ask you but once, and plainly: do you refuse to honor your vow?”

The lords around the board prepared for the clash that would come. Oath of fealty or no, they had no intention of giving up Jerusalem, any more than they had given up Antioch or Edessa, or any of the other towns they had won from the Turks and Saracens; indeed, many still felt aggrieved that they had returned Nicaea to Alexius. They had won the Holy City, no thanks to the emperor, and they would be damned if they would hand it over to him without a fight.

But Raymond was shrewd. “As many here can attest, I would be the first to urge us all to uphold the vows we swore before the imperial throne in Constantinople,” he said smoothly. “Yet, I feel I must beg your pardon, drungarius, but I am compelled to point out that Jerusalem never belonged to the emperor in the first place.”

Dalassenus' face darkened. “You would think to conceal your obscene avarice beneath such a flimsy shroud? The authority and jurisdication of the Holy City have always been the duty and concern of the church. The emperor, as Supreme Head of the Church, is therefore the rightful sovereign of Jerusalem. Any attempt to withhold the Holy City from imperial control will be seen as an act of war against the church itself.”

Godfrey, picking up Raymond's argument and waving it like a banner, entered the fray then, saying, “We are all of us grateful to the emperor for his many gifts in support of the crusade. And I, like my brother lords, readily recall our oath and freely attest that we have promised to return to the emperor all cities, goods, and citizens formerly held by the empire. But Raymond is right: Jerusalem has ever remained beyond imperial authority and jurisdiction. Naturally, we cannot be expected to return something which was never lost.”

Dalassenus knew the crusaders would never willingly relinquish their prize; as they had demonstrated at Antioch and Edessa, they had no intention of giving up anything unless by force. As Grand Drungarius he could declare war on the Latin lords, but in doing so he would place the empire in the indefensible position of fighting against the Holy City. How could the Emperor of All Christendom be seen to make war on the defenders of his own church? However desirable it might be, the prospect was not one he could pursue, and he knew it.

Conceding he must abandon the field, he loosed the one
arrow left in his quiver. “The emperor will be informed of your decision,” Dalassenus told them, hoping the implied threat would weaken their resolve. “No doubt he will be delighted to hear that you recognize the letter of your agreement, if not the spirit. And since you obviously value precision so highly, I will assume that even now you are making plans for the return of a certain valuable to the imperial treasury.”

The lords glanced guiltily at one another. It fell to Godfrey, as the new ruler of Jerusalem, to discover which valuable the envoy meant. “If we have taken anything which did not belong to us,” he replied magnanimously, “then rest assured it will be returned with all haste.” He saw Baldwin glaring furiously at him, but continued nevertheless. “Only tell us what this valuable might be, and we shall gladly deliver it to you.”

Dalassenus smiled. These crusaders were like children in many ways. “Do you not know?” he asked wonderingly. “Why, it is on everyone's lips. Indeed, every Christian from Jerusalem to Constantinople is talking about the Holy Lance.”

Since their triumphant return from the council, Bohemond and King Magnus and their noblemen and advisers had closeted themselves in Bohemond's private chambers. Like the rest of Magnus' war band, Murdo was anxious for the king to emerge from the deliberations; and, like the rest of the men, he was growing restive and bored. Unlike everyone else, however, he cared nothing for the final result of the council. His only reason for staying was to redeem his vow of fealty to the king—so that he might take his leave with the king's blessing and a clear conscience.

At first, the rumors had flown thick and fast. There was to be an equal distribution of plunder, some said; there was to be no division at all, others said. The lords had chosen a king for Jerusalem; the lords had failed to choose a king. The emperor was on his way with ten thousand Varangi; the emperor was already here! The emperor demanded the city and its plunder; the lords were getting ready for war…

As the day dwindled and no further information was gleaned, speculation eventually ceased and the waiting men grew increasingly sullen and peevish. The Norsemen were now grumbling and moaning openly, their former mood of high expectation turning sour as the day sped away. Murdo thought to escape the somber mood, but it was too hot for wandering around the streets and, anyway, the city stank. He
considered going outside the walls where the air was somewhat better, but he feared missing his first opportunity to speak to the king.

“They have had no food or drink brought in,” Fionn pointed out. “We will not have much longer to wait.”

“I, for one, am through with waiting,” declared Murdo, rising abruptly. “I am leaving.”

“Do not wander far,” the cleric advised. “I will fetch you when the lords have finished their deliberations.”

“Farewell,” replied Murdo, already striding away.

With that, he left the courtyard and hurried along the columned corridor, passed quickly through the entrance and out into the street. Brother Emlyn caught up with him just before he reached the Jaffa Gate. “Murdo, wait!” he called, hurrying along behind as the young man made for the gate. “I saw you leave the palace. Where are you going?”

“I mean to collect my father's belongings, and then I am going home.”

“Once the council has made its decision, we will all be leaving—a few days at most, I should think, and then—”

“I have no reason to stay even a day longer,” Murdo said sharply. “I did what I came to do. Now I can leave this place for ever.”

“Your brothers—”

“They are no longer my brothers,” Murdo replied bitterly.

“What I was going to say was that your brothers treated you very badly, but that is no reason to—”

“Torf and Skuli have made their decision, and I have made mine. In fact, they have done me a valuable service. I know now that I am alone in this and cannot count on anyone else. Very well. That is how I began; that is how I will carry on.”

“Do not talk so,” the monk chided gently. “Come back with
me, and we will speak to the king. It would be well to allow him to release you from your vow.”

Murdo started walking again. Emlyn fell into step beside him. “
You
go back if you wish,” Murdo told him. “I will not be persuaded to return.”

“How will you reach Orkneyjar?”

“Many crusaders are leaving now. I will get a place aboard one of the ships at Jaffa.” When the monk asked what he would do if all the places were taken, Murdo said, “Then I will
buy
a ship. One way or another, I mean to leave this place far behind.”

“Then I am going with you,” the cleric declared.

“You are one of the king's advisers; you cannot leave him like this.”

“So,” observed Emlyn, “my vow prevents me, but yours does not? Explain this to me.”

Murdo sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Come back and beg a proper leave-taking of your king. Allow him to offer you his blessing.”

“And if he does not?”

“That is his choice. He is the king, and you are his vassal,” Emlyn replied; taking Murdo by the arm, he turned the headstrong young man. “Come, do not think the worst. Magnus is a reasonable man, and a most generous lord if you permit him to be benevolent.”

Murdo returned to the palace precinct, and to restless waiting. At midday, the lords emerged from their vigil to proclaim their hopeful assurance of a swift and just settlement of their demands. They spoke of their renewed zeal for one another's support and loyalty, and their eagerness to demonstrate their prodigious gratitude for the services of their warriors. Bohemond then departed with his noblemen to his quarters, leaving Magnus to hold court with his men.

There followed still more waiting while the king, besieged by anxious Norsemen, answered their questions and allayed their fears. At last, Murdo's turn came; with Emlyn at his side, he stepped before the king and said, “Lord and king, I beg the boon of your indulgence.”

“Speak freely, my friend,” Magnus invited. “But, pray, speak quickly. I am to rejoin Bohemond, and we must soon return to the council.”

Succinctly as possible, Murdo explained his wish to return home by the swiftest means. He asked the king to release him from his vow of fealty, yet pledged his continued loyalty and friendship, to which the Norse king replied, “I, too, share your desire to return home. I ask that you lend me your patience yet a little longer. We will all be leaving Jerusalem soon enough, and when we do, we will depart as wealthy men.”

At hearing his request denied, Murdo's heart fell. The prospect of remaining in Jerusalem, even a day longer, filled him with dread. Plucking up his courage, he said, “Forgive my boldness, Lord Magnus, but I will gladly barter my share of the treasure for your permission to leave for Jaffa at once.”

Magnus paused to consider this a moment. “Your offer tempts me,” he conceded. “Yet, I would be a false and unworthy lord if I agreed. The road between here and Jaffa is not safe, and I could not spare so much as one man to go with you. Therefore, I think you must stay, and content yourself with a goodly share of the plunder which Count Bohemond and I hasten now to secure.”

The king turned and started away again. Murdo, risking all he might gain, made one last attempt to change the king's mind. “If I found someone to travel with me, my lord, would you agree then?”

Magnus made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “If you can find anyone willing to forfeit his portion of the plunder, then
you may depart with my blessing.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Even so, if I know my men at all, you will still be trying to convince them the day we sail from Jaffa.”

“I will go with him,” offered Emlyn, stepping forward.

Magnus frowned.

“If you would permit me, lord,” the monk hastened to add, “I might accompany him as far as Jaffa, and await your arrival there. It would be no hardship to me, since, as a priest, I would not gain a share of the treasure anyway.”

“Very well,” agreed Magnus impatiently, “let it be as you say. I will bow to my wise counselor's judgment. Go, both of you, with my blessing. May God grant you safe passage. Now, if you will permit me, I must join Lord Taranto.”

As the king and his nobles went on their way, Emlyn said, “Come, we will tell Ronan and Fionn, and bid them farewell. Then, we shall be on our way.”

They found Ronan as he prepared to attend Lord Magnus, and Murdo bade him farewell. “Why farewell?” he asked. “It cannot be that you are leaving.”

“I am,” said Murdo adamantly. He explained the bargain he had made with King Magnus, and Emlyn's offer to accompany him as far as Jaffa. “The good brother will see me safely on a stout ship, but I would go with a better heart if
you
would give me a blessing.”

“You need never ask, Murdo, my heart,” Ronan told him. “The High King of Heaven holds you in the hollow of his hand, and his angels stand ready to defend you.” He regarded Murdo fondly. “If I thought anything I said could change your mind, I would counsel you to stay. It would be a waste of breath, I fear.” Stretching his right hand over the young man's head, he said, “The Good Lord bless you and keep you, and be gracious to you, and may the light of his countenance shine upon you and
give you peace wheresoever you may go.”

He embraced Murdo then, bade him farewell, and said, “Have you told Jon Wing your plans?”

“You say fare well for me,” Murdo answered. “He has gone off with the others.”

“Find him, Murdo,” Ronan urged. “He will want to see you well away.”

“Tell him I am grateful for his care, and that if he should find me when next he comes to Orkneyjar I will fill the welcome bowl with good brown ale.”

 

The heat rising from the bare ground met the walkers' faces like the blast from an oven as they moved out from the shadowed tunnel of the gate. The sun was a harsh yellow glow in a sky bleached pale by the heat and dust. Black columns of carrion birds still wheeled in the dead air above the city; their screeks and squawks could be heard falling from on high with an abrasive incessance.

Upon passing through the gate, Murdo turned quickly onto the Hebron road rising towards Mount Zion and the Church of Saint Mary. “How will you get your father's belongings to the ship?”

“You will see,” replied Murdo, and would say no more.

In a short while they came in sight of the little farming settlement where Ronan had borrowed the camel and Emlyn received his answer. Murdo turned off the road and onto the track leading to the farm. “So, you think to borrow the fellow's camel again. Do you think he will give it to you?”

“He will when I show him the gold.”

They walked on, and arrived at the cluster of small, white-washed, baked mud buildings. As they entered the yard, a skinny brown dog came from around the side of the house and
started barking. The farmer appeared in the doorway a moment later and started to shout. Then he saw who it was, and ran out into the yard, seized Murdo's hand and kissed it—all the while babbling in the queer speech of the Holy Land's peasants.

“What is he saying?” demanded Murdo.

Emlyn looked at the farmer and shook his head. “He is speaking Aramaic, I believe. Ronan knows Aramaic, not me.”

Murdo rolled his eyes. Retrieving his hand from the farmer, he dipped the fingers of his right hand into his belt and withdrew a gold bezant. He then pointed to the camel which was kneeling beside the post in the yard. The farmer babbled something and pointed to the beast, nodding enthusiastically. He turned and shouted towards the house, whereupon his brown wife emerged and, with a shy sideways glance at Murdo, bustled off towards the camel. She took up a stick, and struck the animal on the fore shoulder, clucking her tongue and hissing at it. The animal rose leisurely and, while the woman untied the tether, the farmer gibbered at Murdo, who merely nodded and smiled.

The task finished, the woman then joined her husband, and she, too, kissed Murdo's hand, whereupon Murdo produced a second gold bezant and gave it to her. She snatched the coin away and hid it in a knot in her mantle almost before her husband knew she had it. The farmer's eyes grew wide at his great good fortune, and he began babbling more ecstatically than ever.

With difficulty, Murdo extracted himself from the zealous veneration of the farmer and his wife, and set off again, leading his purchase. He bade the peasants farewell as they passed from the yard, though he knew they would not understand him.

“I wonder if they know they will never see their camel again?” mused Emlyn as they started down the hill towards the road once more.

“That is what the second coin was for,” Murdo replied.

“Yes, I thought as much,” Emlyn agreed approvingly.

“Look there,” said Murdo, pointing to the road below where a company of knights were just then passing. “I wonder if it means the council is finished at last.”

“Who is it? Can you tell?” asked Emlyn, squinting his eyes. “Is it Baldwin?”

“No, not Baldwin,” answered Murdo. “I do not know who it is.”

The mounted soldiers passed out of sight long before the two on foot reached the road, and no more were seen as they climbed the steep slope of the Holy Mountain. They passed the church, and moved through the crowds huddled around the walls to find the gates flung wide and the yard within filled with horses and armed men. Murdo did not hesitate, but went in straight away before anyone could stop him.

They had taken but two steps past the threshold however, when they were met by a very distracted gatekeeper. “I am sorry,” he said. “No one must enter. We are closing our doors for the night by order of the emperor.”

“Please,” said Emlyn, “we will not disturb anyone. We wish only to retrieve the remains of this man's family from the catacombs, and we will be on our way.”

The gateman frowned. “It is the emperor's command!” he insisted, trying to push them back out.

“You did not open the gates to us,” Murdo told him. “The gate was open and we came in. If anyone asks, you can tell them we were already inside.”

“I dare not!” shrieked the man. “The emperor—”

“Is the emperor here?” wondered Emlyn, looking at the commotion in the yard.

“It is the Grand Drungarius, the emperor's personal envoy,”
the worried gateman replied. “He has just returned from the council at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Now you must leave at once. Please, it will be on my head if anyone finds out.” He clutched at Murdo's sleeve as if to pull him out.

Murdo whirled on the porter; his hand snaked out and caught the fellow by the wrist and gripped it hard. “I am going to fetch my father's remains from the catacombs,” he said, putting his face close to the gateman's. “When I have done that, I will be on my way. You can help us, or you can stand aside.”