'It looks as if they are making for Jaffa, too,' observed Emlyn, pointing down the slope to the white cloud of dust which marked the passage of the Seljuq war host.
'I suppose so,' said Murdo.
'Maybe we should go back to Jerusalem,' the monk suggested helpfully.
'We cannot go back to Jerusalem,' Murdo told him. 'We have no water. Jaffa is closer. We can make it that far at least.'
'But if there is going to be fighting at Jaffa -
'We have no choice,' replied Murdo, moving off.
The sun set and the evening twilight gathered around them. For the first time since leaving Jerusalem, Murdo felt the gnawing ache of hunger in his empty stomach. His mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; he wished he had drunk some more when he had the chance.
The air began to cool as the last glimmer of twilight left the sky and night closed around them. They walked on through the night, until fatigue at last overtook them and they found a place beside the road to rest. They tethered the camel without unloading it, and then settled themselves for the night. Exhausted by the rigours of the day, Murdo took a stone for his head and slipped into a deep dreamless sleep, awaking only to the rumble of distant hooves.
Murdo lay for a moment, listening to the sound seeping up from the ground through the stone on which he rested. The rumbling increased even as he listened, and he knew the riders were not far off. He rose quickly and looked around; the sky was already light. The sun had risen, but could not yet be seen from where they were below the ridge.
Rolling to his knees, he took Emlyn by the shoulder and shook him hard. The sleepy cleric came awake with a start. 'What? What?'
'Horses,' Murdo said. 'We should get out of sight before they see us.' Casting a glance up the long slope, he spied a little rocky outcrop behind which they could hide. Leaving the camel to sleep, they hurried up to the rocks, lay on their stomachs, and waited. It was not long before the first riders came into view. 'Who are they? Can you see?' asked Emlyn.
'No, they are too far away, and the light is not so good.'
Hunkering down behind the rocks, they waited. The jingle of the horses' tack could be heard easily now-a light tinkling sound above the drumming of the hooves. The riders came on at a quick, yet measured pace-not as if they were chasing anyone, nor trying to escape. Murdo raised his head and looked again towards the road. At that moment, the sun broke over the ridgetop, sending its rays down the slope and illuminating a large company of riders.
'Crusaders!' cried Murdo. 'Emlyn look! We are saved!' He leapt to his feet and gave a shout, waving his arms. 'Here! Here!'
But the riders, if they saw him, took not the slightest interest. Not one of them so much as slackened his pace, but the whole company-perhaps a hundred knights in all-continued on towards Jaffa.
'They do not see us,' Emlyn said. 'We must warn them about the Turks! Murdo, hurry! Run and tell them!'
Murdo ran to the road as quickly as the rough ground allowed, and stood waving his arms and yelling for the crusaders to stop. Aside from drawing a passing glance from several of the riders, he received no response. Emlyn joined him and added his voice to that of Murdo's. Perhaps because the pair of them, so far from any habitation, presented such an unlikely prospect, they succeeded only in arresting one of the last of the knights, who reined aside to glare down at them and demand what business they had accosting soldiers in the service of the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre.
'We are trying to warn you,' Emlyn said quickly. 'We have seen Seljuqs on this road.'
'There are always Turks around,' sniffed the knight. 'Raiding parties. It means nothing.'
'It was more than a raiding party,' maintained the cleric.
'Are you a chief of battle that you know about such things?' demanded the crusader. He pulled on the reins and made to spur his mount away.
'He is telling the truth,' said Murdo. 'There were Turks-hundreds of them – on this road yesterday. We both saw them. They were heading for Jaffa.'
'Did you see them ride into the city?' the soldier challenged.
'No,' said Murdo, pointing back the direction they had come, 'we were on our way from -'
'Worthless beggars,' sneered the knight. 'Be gone with you!' He lashed the reins across his mount's shoulders and the horse lurched away.
'Wait!' called Murdo. 'We need water-a drink only. We have lost our wat -'
'Drink piss!' shouted the knight as he rode to rejoin his companions.
Thirsty and disappointed, they turned their attention to rousing the camel and, after repeated threats to flay it alive, succeeded in getting the belligerent creature onto its great flat feet. They then started off once more, following the crusaders' dust.
They walked along, and Emlyn began saying prayers in Gaelic to occupy himself. Murdo listened, picking out a word here and there which he recognized. Hearing the familiar sounds put him in mind of his mother. He wondered how she would take the news of her husband's death, and her sons' refusal to come home and fight for the return of their land. He wondered how Ragna was faring, and what she was doing, whether she missed him as much as he missed her, and whether they would ever see one another again. He vowed, not for the first time, that if he ever got home, he would never leave her side.
The sun gained strength as it ascended, and the morning warmth gave way to an oven-like fire which baked the arid hills and rocks all around, and caused the lowlands before them to liquefy and run in the heat haze. When they could not stand to walk any longer, they stopped to look for a place to rest and escape the sun. There were no trees nearby; a fair-sized thorn bush not far from where they stood offered the only shade for leagues around.
Leading the camel to the bush, Murdo flicked its forelegs with a stick and the beast knelt down. Next, Murdo stripped off his sweat-soaked siarc and draped it over the bush. He settled in the bone-dry dirt beside Emlyn, and the two of them rested in the combined shade of the siarc, stinking camel, and thorny bush. It was too hot to talk, or think, and they were beginning to feel the loss of their water. Murdo's mouth felt as dry as the stones on which he lay, and his tongue as if it was swollen to twice its size; his lips were cracking, and his eyeballs were cinders in his head.
He closed his burning eyes and rested his head on his arm. In a moment, he heard Emlyn's breath slow and deepen as the monk drifted off to sleep. Though he tried, sleep eluded Murdo; his mind kept returning to the awful moment when he thought the Turks would kill him while he stood there clinging to Emlyn's mantle like a toddling child. He felt again the sharp spear point bite into his throat, and he heard the warrior say, 'Build me a kingdom, brother'.
The voice was so clear and lifelike, he opened his eyes and looked around. There was no one nearby, of course, and Emlyn was still asleep, so he knew he must have imagined it. Though the voice was imagined, the words were those of Saint Andrew, and he had promised to do what he could. Perhaps, he thought, the same lord who honoured the circle in the dirt-the caim of protection-could deliver him safely home.
'Only get me home, and I will build a realm for you,' Murdo said; 'I will build it next to my own.'
His mumbling roused Emlyn who opened his eyes drowsily. 'Did you say something?' he asked, yawning.
'No,' whispered Murdo. 'Go back to sleep.'
The monk yawned again and closed his eyes. 'It looks like smoke,' he said, his voice falling away as he drifted off to sleep again.
Murdo lay for a moment before it occurred to him to wonder what Emlyn had said. Turning his head, he looked in the direction that Emlyn was facing, and saw the hard-baked land, white with dust, beneath a heat-riven sky so bleached it appeared almost grey. A thin thread of darker grey was snaking up through the cloudless heights. Yes, concluded Murdo, it did look like smoke. What could be burning in this God-forsaken place?