'Forgive me, brother,' I said, breaking into their conversation, 'is it the Holy Cross you mean?'
'Aye,' he agreed dubiously, 'is there any other?'
'The Black Rood,' one of them muttered, 'taken by the cursed heathen Seljuqs.' He spat. 'Much good may it do them. God knows it has done no good for us.'
'Shut your stinking gob, Matthias!' charged Thomas. 'Maybe it is for blasphemers like you that the Almighty gave us up to defeat. Did you ever think of that?'
'How dare you come the high and holy with me!' snarled the offended Matthias. 'I was well and truly shriven ere we left the city-we all were. You'll not go laying the blame for this at my feet, so help me -'
'Where is it?' I asked, interrupting their argument.
'The rood? Why, the Turks have taken it,' answered Matthias. 'They will have it with the rest of the plunder. Christ alone knows what they will do with it, the heathens.'
'They'll burn it,' suggested Girardus dolefully. 'By God they will, for they are godless devil worshippers every hell-cursed one.'
The discussion moved on to speculation about what would happen to us when we reached Damascus, but as no one had any notion, I turned instead to pondering what I had learned: the Holy Rood was here… somewhere.
I determined then and there that if the High King of Heaven allowed me to remain alive, I would resume my quest: somehow I would find the Holy Rood, and I would save it. This I vowed to do.
THIRTY-FOUR
We stayed four days at Kadiriq, a baked-mud settlement on the banks of the stagnant lake, regaining our strength for the days ahead. I suspect the march from Anazarbus had been made as tortuous as possible to kill off the weak and wounded. The Seljuqs wanted slaves to sell and only those strong enough to survive the ordeal would bring a price worth the trouble of keeping them alive.
I slept nearly all of the first day, and the second I spent lying in the shade of a gnarled little tree beside the lake -1 could not bear to be out of sight of the water, and several times went in swimming to cool off. The sight of this white-skinned foreigner thrashing around in the shallows produced great amusement for the children of Kadiriq, who had come out to examine the conquered captives.
That night we were given food for the first time since the battle: flat bread-thin and dry, and tough as parchment-and lentils cooked in beef broth. The second night we were given bread and beans again, and some leathery scraps of goat meat.
On the third day, Amir Ghazi arrived. He travelled in caravan -that is to say, with his entire retinue of advisors, liegemen, and a bodyguard of three hundred or more warriors-all mounted, and leading a long train of pack animals, mostly horses. However, moving with a strange, swaying gait, I saw the odd, ungainly desert creatures called camels. With their steep-humped backs, long necks and small, flat heads, they seemed to tower above the surrounding turmoil with lordly sufferance.
The newcomers arrived leading a few dozen more prisoners. Rumours spread among the captives that the main Seljuq army had taken the town of Marash on the border, allowing the amir to enrich himself still further with Christian slaves and plundered treasure.
Ghazi set up his camp on the other side of the lake. I counted over a hundred tents before losing interest. The townspeople were overjoyed to have the honour of hosting the amir, and that night there was a feast in his name. A dozen cows were slaughtered for the spit, and a score of sheep and goats. The festive mood overflowed the town and even spilled out into the captives' camp, to the extent that we were given a humble share of the feast. That night, along with our bread – a soft, thick flat bread flavoured with anise – we were also given lamb stewed with figs. It was very good, and there was not a man among us who did not lick the wooden bowl clean. We were also given a drink of fermented goat's milk – slightly salty, with a rancid sour taste which failed to seduce many to its charms.
The next morning, rested, fed, and as hale as I could hope to be in the uncertain days ahead, I determined to try my luck with Amir Ghazi.
The sun was high and the wind hot out of the south. I was bathing in the lake when two of the amir's bodyguard appeared. They spoke to the Seljuq keeping watch on the bank, and I decided the time had come. Hauling myself from the water, I motioned for Girardus to accompany me, and came to stand before them on the bank.
'What are you doing?' he whispered desperately.
'Tell them I demand to see the amir.'
He gaped at me in disbelief, and started to object.
'Tell them.'
The guards glanced at us with haughty contempt, but otherwise ignored us.
'I do not think they speak Arabic,' Girardus concluded quickly. 'Let us go before they make trouble for us.'
'Tell them. Make them understand.'
Rolling his eyes, Girardus spoke up, interrupting the Seljuqs, who were not pleased with our persistence. The guard shouted something, and waved his hands at us to drive us away. 'They say to go away,' Girardus said, much relieved.
'I demand to see the amir,' I said, holding my ground. 'Tell them I demand it, Girardus. Use that word. I demand to see him at once.'
After another shouted exchange, Girardus said, 'They say no one can see the amir.'
'Tell them I am a nobleman, and a friend of Lord Thoros of Armenia, and I demand to see Amir Ghazi at once.'
To his credit, Girardus swallowed his fear and spoke up once more. In a halting and trembling voice, he told the guards what I had said. The Seljuq guard started towards us, waving his spear and shouting. But one of the amir's men took him by the arm and pulled him back. He motioned me to him.
Without hesitation, I stepped up. He gazed at me, his dark eyes searching mine. The second guard said something, and flapped a hand at me, but the first guard took me by the arm and turned me around, indicating that I was to walk before them.
'God go with you,' called Girardus.
They marched me around the lake to where the amir had established his camp. Upon arrival, I was brought to stand outside the amir's tent, which was pale blue instead of the deep black-brown of all the others. I was given to understand that I was to remain there
– a few score paces before the tent-and my two keepers spoke to a man who appeared briefly at the tent entrance, before retreating to the shade of a small date palm beside the tent where they could watch me. Thus, I stood, waiting for my audience and observing the commerce of the camp.
Amir Ghazi was a very busy man, judging by the comings and goings of the amir's many advisors, and subject lords. Few of the people who entered the tent stayed very long. I expect they were merely paying homage to the amir, or discharging some perfunctory duty. Indeed, the entire Arab race from the highest caliph to the lowest goatherd is hedged about with a veritable wall of duties and obligations, not one brick or block of which can be removed or altered.
Surveying this continuous procession of lords and notables, I marked again how very splendid were these noblemen: arrayed in flowing clothes of the finest cloth and bedecked with gold and jewels, they wore plumes of ostrich and peacock, and carried jewelled weapons. They gleamed and glittered in the bright sun, astride their fine horses, and accompanied by their retinues.
They all came bearing gifts, which they carried in boxes of carved sandalwood. Sometimes-depending, I think, on the rank of the guest
– the amir met his visitor at the entrance to his tent, and welcomed him with a kiss. Most often, however, it was one of the amir's servants who, bowing low, directed the guest into the great man's presence.