Peter, uncertain, hesitated.
'Too late you show a little wisdom, my friend,' the emperor said. 'Very well, I will tell you, shall I? The sultan has forty thousand in his private bodyguard alone. Forty thousand mounted warriors against your eight.'
'We are sixty thousand strong,' Peter proclaimed proudly. 'We are God's own army.'
'We command God's own army, priest!' cried Alexius, unable to control his anger any longer. ‘You are a rabble!'
The emperor's shout echoed in the hall like the crack of thunder. He leapt from his chair and stood towering over the unfortunate priest. 'What is more, you are a wayward and undisciplined rabble. We have heard how you have plundered your way through Dalmatia and Moesia, looting towns and settlements to provide yourselves with food and supplies.' He turned his head to the Captain of the Excubitori. 'We are not at war with Dalmatia and Moesia, are we, Nicetas?' he inquired with mock innocence.
'No, Basileus,' the commander replied, 'the people there are citizens of the empire.'
'You see!' cried Alexius. 'You have attacked dutiful citizens whose only fault lay in the fact that they happened to live in the path of your thieving mob.'
'They were Jews,' Peter pointed out smugly. 'We have vowed before the Throne of Christ to rid the world of all God's enemies.'
'Your vow was ill-spoken, priest. You have neither right nor authority to swear such a thing. You are above yourself, and we will not suffer these transgressions lightly,' Alexius declared, glaring hard at the ignorant cleric. After a moment, he appeared to soften. 'Nevertheless, despite your flagrant and lamentable trespasses, we will make a bargain with you. In exchange for peace while within imperial borders, we will give you food and water while you are here in Constantinople; further, we will arrange safe conduct for you back the way you came.'
'With all respect, Emperor and Lord,' the hermit replied, 'that I cannot do, for we are sworn to liberate Jerusalem at all costs.'
'Then you must be prepared to pay that cost with your lives,' Alexius declared. 'For truly, you will not escape with less.' He paused, drumming his fingers on the arms of his throne. 'Is there nothing we can say to persuade you to turn back?'
The rustic priest made no reply.
'Very well,' conceded Alexius, 'we will see you safely across the Bosphorus, at least. And may God have mercy on you all.'
Humbled at last, the tattered hermit bowed and accepted his lord's generosity with simple thanks.
'Hear me, Peter of Amiens,' Alexius warned, 'you proceed at your peril. Take our advice and turn back. Without protection and supplies, your pilgrimage will fail.'
'As God wills,' he replied stiffly. 'We look to the Almighty for our aid and protection.'
Alexius, still fuming, glared at the mule-headed cleric and decided there was no point in prolonging the misery; with a flick of the imperial hand, he ended the audience and directed Nicetas to take him away. When they had gone, the emperor turned to Dalassenus. 'This is that incompetent Urban's doing, and he will bitterly regret it. His insufferable interference has brought us nothing but hardship… and now this!'
The emperor stared at his commander, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he said, 'Can it be that he has misunderstood our intentions?'
'I do not see how that could be possible, Basileus,' Dalassenus replied. 'Your letter was most explicit. He had it read out before his bishops, and you have received his favourable reply.'
'Even so, something has gone wrong,' Alexius declared. 'I asked for an army to help fill the ranks and restore the themes. I said nothing about a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
'No, Basileus,' agreed Dalassenus firmly.
The emperor shook his head. 'I fear I must ask you to return to Rome, cousin. We must learn what that old meddler has done, and take measures to prevent any more citizens coming to harm. You will leave at once, and may God go with you.'
FIVE
'I have spoken to Guthorm Wry-Neck,' Lord Brusi was saying as Murdo drifted near, 'and he said the ship will leave Kirkjuvagr the day after the Feast of Saint James, God willing.'
'That soon?' His father sounded surprised. 'It cannot take so long to reach Lundein.'
Brusi only nodded. 'That is what he said.'
'But the harvest will not be finished,' Ranulf pointed out.
'Aye,' Brusi agreed. 'There is no help for it, I fear. We must reach Rouen by mid-August and no later if we are to travel with the king's men.'
'Yes, yes, I see that,' Lord Ranulf agreed. 'Still, I had not thought we would be leaving so soon.'
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Bishop Adalbert, who called his guests to table-the women to tables on the right, and men to the left. In the eager, but not undignified, rush which ensued, Murdo found himself squeezed onto a bench between two merchantmen of more than ample girth. The one on his left eyed him disapprovingly-as if he feared that Murdo's presence might turn feast into fast; but the man on the right winked at him and smiled. 'Going to Jerusalem are you, boy?'
'I am not, sir,' replied Murdo in a tone that dared his listener to pursue the matter further.
'Ah,' the merchant nodded sagely, and Murdo could not tell whether he thought this a good thing or not. 'I am Gundrun,' he said, 'and I give you good greeting, young man.'
'God be good to you, sir,' replied Murdo; he gave his name, and pointed out his father and brothers sitting a few places further down the bench, and identified them to his listener.
The merchant on the left took this in with a heavy grunt, whereupon Gundrun said, 'Do not mind him, Murdo Ranulfson; he is always out of temper-is that not so, Dufnas? Never more so than on a feast-day following mass.' The man on the left grunted again and turned his surly attention elsewhere.
A monk appeared just then, carrying a tall stack of round, flat loaves of bread. He passed along the bench, placing a loaf before each guest. 'Here now,' said Gundrun, 'the food arrives.'
Murdo looked at the solitary loaf, and searched the length of the board in vain for anything resembling a bowl or cup, but saw none anywhere and knew his worst fears confirmed: nothing but dry bread for him today, and not so much as a sip of water to wash it down. Unable to keep his disappointment to himself any longer, he shared his gloomy opinion with his stout companion.
But Gundrun only winked at him again, and said, 'Have faith, my friend.'
As if in response to these hopeful words, there came a commotion across the square, and Murdo saw what he took to be a procession emerge from the cloisters. Pairs of monks-dozens of them, all carrying fully-laden trenchers between them-appeared on the green and proceeded at once to the tables, where they delivered their burdens and hastened away.
Almost before the starving Murdo could wonder whether a single platter would suffice for the entire table, two more appeared, and then two more, so that each trencher served a pair of guests either side of the board. While the monks scurried after more platters, still other clerics delivered silver bowls of salt to the table, placing them within reach of the diners.
Murdo gaped at the mound of food before him. Rarely had he seen such a profusion of roast fowclass="underline" quail, doves, grouse, and pheasant. Nor was that all, for there were quartered ducks, and the smaller carcasses of larks and blackbirds, and, scattered throughout, the eggs of each of these birds.
The platter had no sooner touched the board than Murdo's hands were reaching for the nearest bird. His fist closed on the leg of a small duck and he pulled it from the pile, loosening a quail, which tumbled onto the table before him. Gundrun, beside him, and the two diners opposite, helped themselves as well, and a singular hush fell upon the green. Murdo finished the duck and, grease dripping from chin and fingers, started on the quail.