Murdo gazed down at his empty hands in remorse. He shook his head. 'My brothers are going,' he admitted woodenly. 'I am to stay behind to help look after the bu.'
Although he expected Ragna to spurn him, now that the awful truth was known, his confession produced a wonderful result. The young woman hesitated, glanced left and right quickly, and leaned forward, boldly placing one long-fingered hand on his sleeve. The skin of his arm burned beneath her touch. 'Good! I am glad of it,' she whispered, adding a nod for emphasis.
Murdo did not know which astonished him more, her hand on his arm, or the conspiratorial glee with which she imparted her extraordinary assertion.
'Good?' wondered Murdo, his head spinning.
Ragna fixed him with a clear and steady eye. 'It is not a pilgrimage, but a war.' She said the word as if it were the worst thing she knew. 'That is what my mother says, and it is the truth.'
Murdo stared, unable to think what to say. Of course it is a war! he thought. There would be no point in going otherwise. But to speak that sentiment aloud would immediately place him outside the balmy warmth of Ragna's confidence and, having just acquired it, he was loath to abandon it so quickly. 'It is that,' he muttered vaguely, which satisfied her.
'My mother and I are staying, too,' Ragna informed him proudly. 'Perhaps we shall see one another again soon.'
Before he could reply, Lady Ragnhild noticed them talking and called her daughter to her. Without another word, Ragna spun on her heel and rejoined the women-but Murdo thought he saw her smile at him as she turned away.
FOUR
'A disaster of undeniable magnitude,' groaned Alexius.
'Certainly unforeseen, Basileus,' offered Nicetas helpfully.
The emperor shook his head, venting another groan of mingled anger and despair. He stood with a small retinue of advisors-the sacrii consistori, and the commander of the palace guard-on the wall above the Golden Gate, looking out upon the dark ungainly flood creeping towards the city from the west with a strange, almost dreamlike lethargy.
For three days Constantinople had been receiving reports-often contradictory – regarding the size and direction of this slow-moving invasion, and now, for the first time, the invader could be seen. Ignoring the road for the most part, they simply sprawled across the plain in ragged clots and clumps, rolling recklessly over the land in an untidy mass.
At the sound of hurried footsteps, the emperor turned. 'Well, Dalassenus, what have you discovered?'
'They are indeed Franks, Basileus,' he said, pausing to catch his breath. 'But they are peasants.'
'Peasants!'
'For the most part, Basileus,' Dalassenus continued. 'There are but a handful of soldiers among them. Nevertheless, they insist they are coming at the Patriarch's behest, and what is more, they are on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
'Indeed?' Alexius turned his eyes once more towards the straggling flood. 'Pilgrims!' he shook his head in dismay. 'We cannot possibly protect them. Do they know that, Dalassenus?'
'They say they do not require our aid in any way,' the commander answered. 'They say God Almighty protects them.'
'Extraordinary,' sighed the emperor, shaking his head again. The dust from the feet of this rag-tag invasion rose into the clear summer sky. The day would be hot; no doubt the pilgrims would welcome water before they reached the city walls. Alexius, already calculating how best to fend off the swarm, began arranging the distribution of water.
'There is more, Basileus,' said the drungarius, breaking into the emperor's thoughts.
'Tell us, Dalassenus, what else?'
'They are led by a priest named Peter, who believes they have been commanded by the Patriarch of Rome to liberate Jerusalem from the rule of the infidel. It is their intention to do so.'
This pronouncement brought a laugh from Nicetas and some of the others on the wall. 'Liberate Jerusalem!' scoffed one of the advisors. 'Are they insane, these peasants?'
'They say Bishop Urban has called for every Christian to take the cross and go on pilgrimage to fight the Saracens.'
'The Saracens?' wondered Nicetas. 'We have not been troubled by the Saracens for more than thirty years.'
'Fifty years,' suggested another of his advisors.
Alexius had heard enough. 'Nicetas, find this Peter and bring him to us. We would speak to him and learn his true intentions.' The commander of the excubitori made a salute and departed on the run. The emperor, taking one last look at the slow-approaching horde, shook his head in disbelief, then hurried off to await the arrival of his unwelcome guest.
He did not have long to wait, for he had just finished donning his robes of state when word of Nicetas' return reached him. Moving from the inner chamber to the audience room, he mounted the dais and took his place on the throne, the Holy Scriptures beside him on a purple cushion; Grand Drungarius Dalassenus, together with the emperor's usual assortment of court officials and advisors, stood behind the dais, solemn and mirthless, exuding a sombre gravity befitting the seriousness of the extremity facing the empire.
Taking his place quickly, Alexius, nodding to the magister officiorum, said, 'Bring him.'
A moment later the magister struck the white marble floor with his rod of office, and the great gilded doors of the Salamos Hall swung open. In marched Nicetas, followed by four of the imperial guard-one at each corner-leading a large, thick-set shambling man, tonsured and barefoot, and dressed in the dun-coloured hooded cloak and ankle-length mantle of a rural Roman cleric.
Excubitor Nicetas, sweating from his ride in the heat of the day, advanced quickly to the foot of the throne, prostrated himself, and rose at his sovereign's command to say, 'Lord Basileus, I give you Peter of Amiens.'
The rustic priest, suitably awed by the wealth of his surroundings, gazed with wonder at the exalted being on the throne before him. Upon hearing his name, he pitched forward onto his face and seized the emperor by the foot, which he kissed respectfully, saying, 'Hail, Sovereign Lord, your willing servant salutes you.'
'Rise, and stand on your feet,' said Alexius sternly. The man rose, shaking his clothes back in the same motion; with his tattered cloak and filthy mantle he looked like a vagrant bird which, having bathed in the dust, now settled its bedraggled feathers.
'They tell us you are the leader of these pilgrim peasants,' the emperor said. 'Is this true?'
'By no means, Lord Emperor,' replied Peter. 'I am but a poor hermit granted by God and His Holiness Pope Urban the divine favour of going on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
'You know, of course, that martyrdom awaits you,' Alexius informed him, 'should you be so fortunate as to reach Jerusalem.'
At this the hermit priest drew himself up to full height. 'Lord and Emperor, it is our very great privilege to wrest the lands of our Saviour from the evil infidel. With Almighty God as our protector, this we will do.'
'The Arabs will oppose you,' the emperor stated, watching the man before him. 'How do you plan to win Jerusalem?'
'If necessary,' the hermit replied, 'we will fight.'
'It will most certainly become necessary-of that we can assure you,' Alexius said, feeling his anger stir within. 'The Arabs are fearless in battle, and their resolve is legendary. Where are your weapons? Where are your supplies? Have you any siege engines? Have you the tools to make bridges, dig wells, scale walls?'
'What we need,' answered the cleric placidly, 'the Good Lord provides.'
'And has the Good Lord provided any soldiers for your army?'
'He has, Lord Emperor,' answered Peter, shaking back his cloak once more. There was more than a touch of self-righteous defiance in his stance and tone.
'How many?'
'We have eight knights with us. They are led by the most devout Walter Sansavoir of Poissy.'
'Eight,' repeated Alexius. 'Did you hear that, Nicetas? They have eight mounted soldiers.' Turning once more to the priest, he asked, 'Do you know how many warriors Sultan Arslan commands?'