To my surprise, it was the normally aggressive Hroudland who urged caution.
‘I have seen the walls of Zaragoza,’ he said. ‘Believe me, without large siege engines we cannot take the city in less than six months.’
‘Then our engineers must build siege engines,’ insisted the swarthy nobleman. He scowled angrily at Hroudland. The man was evidently another of the margrave’s rivals at court.
‘It will take far too long to construct heavy siege engines,’ argued Eggihard. ‘By the time they are ready, our supplies will be finished.’
There was another long interval as no one else spoke. The king stirred restlessly on the wooden throne. Close to me someone coughed nervously. I was aware of the faint, musty smell of mildew; the canvas of the great royal tent had begun to rot. It occurred to me that this decay symbolized the threadbare, worn-out state of the Frankish army.
Finally Hroudland again spoke. He raised his voice so everyone could hear him clearly, and his words were delivered with a confident flourish.
‘I suggest, Your Majesty, that instead of laying siege to Zaragoza, we extract its wealth like honey from the hive, and leave the city so impoverished that it will be unable to trouble us in the future.’
‘And how do we keep the bees at bay?’ demanded his uncle. I could see a glint of interest, even affection, in the gaze he turned on Hroudland.
‘We have the Wali of Barcelona as our prisoner. He is both the brother-in-law and the close ally of the Wali of Zaragoza,’ the count answered. ‘I’m told that there is a strong bond between the two men. I propose that we demand a very great ransom for the release of the Wali of Barcelona plus an additional sum to recompense the expenses for bringing the army into Hispania.’
Like a shaft of sunlight suddenly lighting up gloomy countryside, his words lifted the atmosphere in the pavilion. Noblemen exchanged knowing glances. Most of them had come to Hispania for loot, not to stay and settle. There was a mutter of excitement; they could carry back the spoils without having to fight for them.
‘Is there enough wealth in Zaragoza to meet such a heavy demand?’ the king asked Hroudland mildly.
‘Your Majesty, Zaragoza is one of the richest cities in Hispania. The wali has enormous personal wealth,’ Hroudland assured him.
A low rumble of approval greeted his announcement.
By now I knew this was the way of the Frankish world. The naked greed of the Franks was unpleasant to observe but, however distasteful I found it, I had to accept that I had committed myself to helping satisfy their craving for riches when I rode into Hispania as a loyal member of Hroudland’s entourage.
‘And how do we persuade the wali Husayn to part with his wealth?’ asked the king.
With a sinking heart I anticipated what Hroudland would say next.
‘I have just the man to act as a go-between. He will know how best to present our demand,’ answered the count. He looked in my direction.
The king followed his glance and there was a flicker of recognition as his shrewd, grey eyes came to rest on me.
Unexpectedly Ganelon spoke up. His voice was measured and serious, with no hint that he was raising an objection. He was too clever for that.
‘Your Majesty, the noble margrave’s plan is admirable, but it may come to nothing unless we can provide the wali with some sort of surety of our good faith.’
It was a fair comment but Ganelon rarely did anything without a hidden reason.
Hroudland blundered into the trap set for him.
‘Your Majesty, I am willing to offer myself as that surety. I will go into Zaragoza as hostage for the honest fulfilment of our bargain. Only when the Wali of Barcelona is set free and rides in through the gates of the city will I bring back the wealth of Zaragoza.’
I detected a hint of a smile under Ganelon’s black beard. He was evidently relishing the success of his intervention. If something went badly wrong with the payment of the ransom, Hroudland might well have forfeited not only his freedom, but also his life.
The king looked around the assembly.
‘Does anyone else wish to make a suggestion?’
When there was no reply, he announced that Hroudland’s plan was to be put into immediate effect and declared the meeting closed.
As soon as the king had left, a cheerful group of Hroudland’s supporters clustered around him, congratulating him for his proposal and applauding him for his personal courage. I held back. I recalled describing Husayn’s splendid palace and its luxury to the count as we rode side by side on our journey to Hispania. I should have known that my description of such wealth would attract Hroudland’s craving for riches. I had also let slip that Wali Husayn was married to the sister of the governor of Barcelona. That pleasant conversation intended to pass the time would now lead to the ruin of the wali and Zaragoza. Crassly I had betrayed Husayn’s hospitality and kindness. Perhaps the snake in my dream of treachery should have coiled itself around my leg. Sick at heart, I felt soiled and dirty.
The next morning the army engineers constructed a small ballista capable of throwing a heavy arrow three hundred paces. They dragged it to the edge of the cleared ground around the city, and Hroudland had me write a note to Wali Husayn outlining the ransom plan. I suggested that it would be easier for a messenger to deliver the message under a white flag, but was told that the ballista would serve as a reminder to the Saracens that the Frankish army was capable of preparing siege engines.
The arrow carrying the message was shot over the city wall.
The wali’s reply came within an hour, delivered by a messenger who rode out of the city and dropped it disdainfully on the ground. Husayn had agreed to our terms. He would pay four thousand pounds weight of silver coin for the governor of Barcelona to be handed over, in good health. Additional treasure including silks, gold and jewels to the value of another five thousand pounds of silver would reimburse Carolus for the expense of bringing his army into Hispania. Husayn made only one condition: he required four days to assemble such a colossal sum.
On the appointed day, Hroudland and I crossed the open ground towards the city gate. The count had chosen to ride his great roan war horse and he towered above me on the small, sturdy cob that had been provided for me. Neither of us carried weapons, though we wore full armour, intending to put on a brave show. The sun was already well above the horizon so the heavy war gear was hot and uncomfortable. Behind us was the wreckage of the orchards. The troops had set up camp, hacking down the carefully tended trees to make shelters and for firewood. The irrigation ditches were crumbling under the constant trampling of horses and men, the water in them was muddy and foul. Swarms of fat flies buzzed over mounds of human filth, and the air reeked with the smell of horses, men and dung.
‘Let’s get this over as quickly as possible,’ Hroudland muttered to me as we approached Zaragoza’s main gate. The note of resignation in his voice made me take a quick glance at him. His face had a fixed expression, downcast yet determined. I guessed he was thinking how he had once hoped to become the Margrave of the new Hispanic March. Now he knew that it would never happen. When the campaign was over, he would be returning to the rain and mists of Brittany.
‘Wali Husayn will keep his word,’ I said, trying to reassure him.
The city gate swung open as we came closer and there waiting on his white horse was Osric, again dressed in the wali’s livery. Beside him was a single mounted cavalryman, also wearing Husayn’s colours.
I sensed Hroudland’s surprise. He must have expected that we would be met by at least a troop of horsemen to escort us through the city. Instead it seemed that we were being treated as little more than a passing nuisance.
Osric did not speak a single word in greeting. I felt a pang of acute disappointment at his frigid reception. I had expected at least some small gesture of recognition for the years we had shared. But he had merely nodded to the both of us and now, stony-faced, he led us in silence.