Sydoni licked her lips, bracing herself for what came next. 'Once Julian had departed, father changed his mind and abandoned the rest of the packing-what was the use? Instead, we hurried after Julian, but the streets were crowded and it was difficult to get through. We reached the gates only to find the caravan stopped, the hired men scattered, and Julian nowhere to be seen. We searched quickly, asking everyone, but no one would tell us anything.
'At last, we found one of the workmen who said that when Julian could not get through he came back, and the soldiers at the gate challenged him and demanded a second bribe. When Julian refused, the soldiers seized him and dragged him away, threatening the rest of the hired men with violence if they told anyone. The man showed us where the soldiers had taken Julian, and we found his battered body lying in his own blood. The soldiers had beat him and left him to bleed to death behind a dung heap.' Her voice trailed off and we sat listening to the soft tick of the dying coals.
'There was nothing we could do,' she said after a moment. 'Julian was dead, and by then it was growing dark. We had to move on, or face death ourselves. Even so, it was only with great difficulty that I persuaded my father to leave. We paid the workman to take care of the corpse, and made our way to the gate. The greedy soldiers had closed it already, and refused to open it unless father gave them half his silver and gold. In the end, they took more than that, of course, and we were allowed to keep the rest because they were too lazy to unpack the animals.
'It took us nine days to reach Tyre on the coast,' she said, her voice cracking slightly. 'With every step of the way, my father's heart hardened against Baldwin and the other leaders of the Christian principalities that much more. De Bracineaux helped us to reach Cyprus-he even sent soldiers to Sidon and Tripoli to get father's ships back. The merchants there had heard that the Christians had been exiled from Damascus, and they assumed Yordanus had been killed. But it was Julian.'
She turned to me in the soft ember glow, unshed tears gleaming her eyes. 'Now you know,' she said.
I regretted my curiosity; had I known it would cause her such pain, I never would have asked. 'I am sorry, Sydoni,' I murmured, feeling her sorrow as a leaden lump in my heart, and wishing I might have spared her the anguish of those awful days and their retelling. I wanted to put my arm around her shoulders and hold her close, but I did not know whether she would welcome such a gesture of comfort from me.
'That was two years ago and I have not spoken of this to anyone since the day we left Damascus,' she said, pushing the tears away with the heel of her hand. 'I will not speak of it again.'
Nor did I blame her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eight days we were on the road, and in that time met only a handful of fellow travellers-a few farmers and shepherds going to or returning from distant markets, four Greek priests, and a company of merchants on their way to seek their fortunes among the Armenians. These last fell in with us and hoped to keep our company until reaching Anazarbus. Otherwise, the journey was forgettable in every way. One rock-strewn hillside is much the same as the next, after all.
We slept and ate and rode on, growing more fretful and peevish, and less companionable, as the days wore away. Yordanus, who had begun with such zeal, began to fade; he was an old man and his strength was not equal to his enthusiasm. Sydoni seemed to retreat into herself, becoming ever more pensive and melancholy. I would see her riding with her sun shade spread above her, and try to engage her in conversation, but the sombre preoccupations of her mind were too potent to quell for very long; she soon slipped back into her distracted reflection. Roupen, anxious and tetchy since leaving Antioch, grew ever more so as his apprehensions mounted. No one could say two words to him without either starting an argument or casting him into a desperate frenzy of morbid self-pity.
Only Padraig and Nurmal remained unaffected by the oppressive sameness-Nurmal, because he loved his horses and found happiness in all circumstances so long as he was sitting in the saddle; and Padraig, because that is the way he is. Priests of the Cele De find hardship stimulating and entertaining in an improving way. Indeed, they have been known to fashion misfortune for themselves when supplies of the natural stuff run short.
For myself, I gradually tired of trying to keep the others cheerful, and more often than not found myself deep in brooding meditation on the peculiar twists and turns encountered on life's rocky road-all the more because each twist and turn took me further from my pursuit of the Holy Rood. The urgency and importance of our purpose notwithstanding, I began to resent all the intrusions and irritations, large and small, which kept me from my quest. More and more, I grew anxious to be about my own business, and longed for the day when there would be no one to defend, pamper, or appease, save myself alone.
I was heartily glad when, on the eighth day, we crested a hill and saw the walls of Anazarbus glistering in the heat-sheen. Because of the hills, we had come close upon the city before seeing it, and now there it was, nestled like a clutch of dull ruddy eggs in the protective bends of the curved city walls. Away to the south and east slanted a rough, broken plain through which a river had dug a deep ravine; to the north and west ranged the tumbling, craggy foothills of the high Taurus mountains rising elegantly, if forbiddingly, in the hazy distance.
Once in sight of the city, Roupen, morose and unresponsive at best, now became almost drunk with exuberance. He lifted his head and gave out a shriek which must have been heard in the streets of the city itself. He slapped the reins and urged his good horse to speed. The animal, glad for an excuse to run after so many days of dull plodding, put back its ears, reared, and leapt to a gallop, pulling along the poor pack horse tethered behind.
Following his lead, Nurmal and I gave our horses their heads and let them run, leaving our band of merchants behind. It was as if my heart took wings. Suddenly, the grinding monotony of the road fell away as we thundered down towards the city. Roupen was first to reach the gates, and had already dismounted by the time we arrived. We joined him as he remonstrated with the guards at the gate to let us in.
'Do you not know who it is that demands entrance?' he said, his voice tight with anger, his joy quickly quenched by the obstinate refusal of the gatemen to obey.
'It is Lord Roupen, son of Prince Leo,' offered Nurmal helpfully.
'No one is to enter or leave the city without the lord's leave,' the stolid guard replied; the two soldiers with him nodded and edged nearer.
'But that is absurd!' shouted Roupen. He made to force his way around the guards, who levelled their weapons threateningly.
'Wait!' I said, stepping quickly between Roupen and the gatemen. 'Something is amiss here,' I told him. 'It is useless arguing with them. See if they will agree to take a message to your father.'
Roupen was ill-disposed to take my advice, but saw the sense of it nonetheless. Turning to the porter, he snapped, 'Take a message to your master. Tell him that Lord Roupen waits outside the city walls and begs to be reunited with his family.'
This caused the guards some consternation. The chief among them put out a hand towards the one next to him. 'You heard,' he said, pushing the man away. 'Run!'