Again, I understood that he was according me a special favour, but his meaning remained beyond my comprehension.
I told Caitlin what he had said, and asked if she minded very much amusing herself for awhile. 'Go on with you,' she said, 'and don't be silly. Of course I don't mind. I can well look after myself for a few days.'
So, with the blessing of both bishop and wife, I settled myself into the chair I was to occupy for a good many days. When the others had gone, I loosened the silken cord and turned back the battered old covering.
The script diat met my eye was strong and fair. The rich black tone had faded to a pale reddish sepia, but remained clearly legible. I read the first words, and knew why I had been summoned to this task. My heart began to beat with such force I thought I would have to abandon the work before I had even begun. Before me on the table was the account of Murdo's son, Duncan, and, in his own words, a record of his pilgrimage in the Holy Land.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Amir Ghazi's arrival in Damascus was hailed as the triumphal entry of a conquering hero. He massed his army on the wide plain outside the city walls and then proceeded to lead his victorious troops and their wretched captives into the city. The wily amir spared no pomp in making his entrance as impressive as possible. Drummers went before the amir and his bodyguard, pounding out dull thunder; children ran beside the amir's horse, scattering flower petals; trumpeters blew shrill blasts to part the crowds who stood and gaped at the passing spectacle.
We marched through the streets to the citadel where Atabeg Buri and all the officials and dignitaries met the grand cavalcade in the courtyard of the Rose Pavillion. Proud Ghazi made a great show of displaying his prize captives; the prisoners were paraded before a double rank of noble Arabs, some on small cushioned stools and some on thrones, and made to bow before them in a show of subservient humiliation. I, who had carried Bohemond's head on my back, was forced to display the ghastly prize to the Arabs.
Summoned from the fore-ranks of the captives, I was marched before the Seljuqs and Saracens as they sat in festal splendour, enjoying the subjugation of their hated foe. Two guards led me to the foot of the low rise of steps leading up to the perfumed pavilion and, at Ghazi's direction, I was commanded to open the box. The Arab noblemen laughed to see the mighty prince, and bane of their people, disgraced in death.
One of the Arabs, however, did not laugh with the others. Dressed in opulent robes that glowed with the iridescent blues and greens of peacock feathers, and wearing a huge blue turban, he observed the Christian prince's shame with a rapt and thoughtful expression. At the height of the mirth, he beckoned Atabeg Buri nearer and spoke privately to him for some time. Meanwhile, I stood and held the open box for the delight and delectation of the others, hating the display and my part in it.
When the two finished their conversation, Buri invited Amir Ghazi to join them. The amir advanced and was presented to the stranger in the blue turban, whereupon he immediately fell to his knees and pressed the nobleman's hand to his forehead. The Arab potentate endured the fawning servility of the amir with cool aplomb and, to my great chagrin, raised his hand and pointed directly at me.
Ghazi jumped up and, with an ostentatious flourish of his arm, waved me forwards. Accompanied by the guards, I was led to the pavilion steps and there made to kneel, holding the box while the strutting amir presented the resplendent onlooker with the gift of Bohemond's head.
Why he should want the grotesque thing, I could not say. But the bestowing of it filled old flat-faced Ghazi with a rare elation. His rough and weathered visage cracked wide in a grin of exaltation and, in a fit of largesse, he lavished the whole of his trove upon his obviously superior overlord: the objects of gold and silver, the saddles, weapons, and armour, the horses, and all the rest he had accumulated-including the prisoners. Yes, and myself as well.
Although I guessed what was happening at the time, I did not learn until much later that day the identity of the glittering luminary who was to be my new master. It was Sahak, the Armenian scribe and advisor, who told me, and took great delight in the telling. 'You belong to the Caliph of Baghdad now,' he said, unable to suppress a wicked smile at what he imagined would be distressing news to me.
'But that is impossible!' I cried. My reaction gave him great satisfaction, and his hairless jowls jiggled with mirth.
In truth, I was not dismayed in the least. As I say, I had already worked out what had happened, and concluded that it did not greatly matter who held the end of my chain, so to speak, just so long as I remained close to the Black Rood. Still, I had wit enough to adopt a woeful demeanour in order to find out all I could of my new master. For I knew if Sahak thought the information would benefit me in some way, he would doubtless have withheld it out of sheer meanness.
So, making a pretence of consternation, I seized his sleeve and clung to him in desperation. 'What will happen to me?'
'Who can say?' Delighting in his power over me, he said, 'But since you ask, I expect you will be killed.'
'No!' I gasped. 'I have done nothing. My friends,' I said, gripping him harder, 'they will ransom me.'
'So you say.' He shook my hand from his arm. 'But they have not come for you, have they? If I were you, I would forget about being ransomed. Your friends have forgotten you.'
'They would never do that!' I shouted, my agitation increasing his merriment.
'They have given you up,' he maintained, 'or else they would have come for you. If they wanted to ransom you, they would have done so long since.'
'They will come,' I insisted. 'The Caliph of Baghdad, you say? I cannot go with him. You must speak to Amir Ghazi. You must beg him to let me stay in Damascus where my friends can find me. You must tell him, Sahak, you are my only hope.'
'Oh, rest assured, I will do what I can,' he told me, the keen light of treason in his eyes.
'Thank you, Sahak. Thank you,' I said, knowing full well that now I would remain with the caliph and within reach of the Black Rood.
The deceitful katib scuttled away, and I watched him go-a thoroughly detestable fellow, to be sure, but he had his uses. I returned to the corner of my cell and reflected on how even the wicked were not beyond the reach of the Swift Sure Hand, who employed all things as he would to bring about his purposes.
For, following the triumphal entry and Amir Ghazi's rash fit of generosity, my fellow captives and I were taken to the stinking, vermin infested prison of Amir Buri, Damascus' preening potentate, to await the pleasure of our master, the caliph.
In all, it was not so bad for us, and now that I could be assured of remaining near the Holy Rood, I was content. The stench I could tolerate; after endless hot days in the scorching sun, the cool, damp darkness of the dungeons was blessed relief itself. But the rats and mice were a very plague and no one dared fall asleep at night for the instant a body drifted off, the rats would be on him, gnawing at any exposed flesh. Several men lost the tips of fingers and toes before learning to sleep in the day, when the vermin were less active.
Besides the three noblemen, there were other Christians imprisoned with me; those crusaders who had survived the battle and ensuing journey from Anazarbus had also been made to walk in the grand procession in order to enhance the golden lustre of Ghazi's glory. Girardus was among the survivors, but I could not speak to him, for I was held in a cell by myself apart from the others. The reason, I eventually discovered, was that the Christians blamed me for Bohemond's defeat.