Behind the Veil (8 page)

Nicholas returned to his horse, and swung himself up. Pausing to collect his thoughts, he looked over at Tancred. “Under Irene’s ungodly influence, Philip’s trust in his future being written in the stars directed his own egoistic epitaph. He is responsible for much suffering and many deaths. But now we must hurry, it will soon be nearing midnight and the ship to St. Symeon may sail without us.”

When they arrived on the wharf, the Genoese ship was preparing to leave. They ran past the darkened hulls of many ships, past crewmen and lone guards who paid them no heed.

Captain Rainald was on deck when Tancred shouted for his attention. Rainald leaned over the ship’s side and gave a command to those about him to lower the gang plank. Scarcely a minute later, Tancred ran up the incline onto the solid deck, with the others following.

Rainald stood on deck, grinning, a picture of elegance, his black hat sporting gems.

“You had me worried, Tancred! Welcome aboard!” He turned and gave a bow of respect and welcomed Nicholas, Rufus, and Demetrious.

As the ship left the Golden Horn, Tancred looked back, his face grave. Constantinople, the Queen City, was forever behind him. But what would the future hold for him and Nicholas at Antioch?

Behind the Veil  / The Royal Pavilions boo
k3
/ Linda Chaikin

Captain Rainald was indignant. “What is this? You will not fight beside us to take St. Symeon?”

They were nearing the port when Tancred explained that his destiny did not lie with the Genoese. “If it were any other time, my friend, I would find myself honored to fight alongside you. And neither can I yet join Bohemond in the siege of Antioch! I must get inside
the city, and this challenge I must accomplish alone.”

Rainald did not bother to hide his disappointment. “You and I, and yes Bardas, I thought we would fight together.”

“We may yet join swords, my friend, but now I have no honorable choice except to go directly to the Castle of Hohms.”

“And from there, Antioch, yes I see. Perhaps it is best. The crusading armies will soon be starving,” Rainald cautioned.

“Not if you valiant Genoese take the port so that supplies can be shipped in.

“Even if we could take the port tomorrow, it will take time to bring in food from Cyprus.”

“I have every confidence in you and your Italian friends. We will meet again.”

The appeal seemed to soothe Rainald, and encourage his cooperation.

***

In the cabin with Rainald, Tancred and Nicholas studied the map of the environs of Antioch that Tancred had drawn in the Royal Library in Constantinople. A lantern hung above the wooden table casting its glow.

“It would be best to go ashore late at night in a small boat,” Nicholas suggested to Rainald. “Can you bring us close to the beach at St. Symeon?”

“Slipping past the Muslim Turks will be difficult, but being the most excellent captain that I am, it can be done. We corsairs know of secret places to stow away. I shall bring you to a point farther south.”

Tancred exchanged smiles with Nicholas.

Late that night the ship’s crew lowered the anchor a mile offshore from a deserted beach. The wind had picked up, and clouds blotted out the moon. No voices were raised as a rowboat was lowered into the dark swells. Tancred snatched up his two bags, tossed them down to a crewman, then gripped the rope and descended, followed by Nicholas, Bardas, Rufus, and Captain Demetrious.

The oars manned by two Genoese, the boat moved away from the ship’s hull toward the distant shoreline. After nearly a half-hour the beach became discernible, and Tancred heard waves crashing against the shoreline. It was starting to rain when they reached the beach. With a friendly salute, the crewmen left them and rowed back toward the ship.

Leaving the beach, the five men climbed a hill and found themselves on a small coastal mound above the main port of St. Symeon, now dark and quiet. Rain sprinkled Tancred’s face as the frontal wind blew against him, but he was far from being disillusioned. In a few days he would be at the castle. Helena waited, and also his adoptive father, Rolf Redwan, an uncle, whom Tancred had not seen in six years. He was at last coming to his destination. What lay ahead?—the embrace of Helena, or was she already married to Prince Kalid?

He would not stay defeated forever. Somehow, in God’s purpose and goodness, he would go on to the end of the path and reach the goal planned for him.

They walked the rugged path to the harbor. The rain and the late hour kept dockside activity to a minimum. The shores were crowded with merchandise to be loaded or unloaded at the light of dawn. Camels slept, and the guards had taken shelter. Ahead were several caravans from the southern regions of Aleppo and Damascus.

“Seljuk Turks?” Nicholas whispered.

“Arabs is my guess.”

“We are in good stead.”

“Maybe. It is true that there is little affection between the Arabs and their recent Turkish overlords,” Tancred said. “However, Arab princes will commit their desert warriors to the cause of Islam rather than Christendom. We must retain our caution.”

The caravan drivers were up early, and a fire burned. Tancred smelled the aroma of the small round Arab breads, chunks of goat meat, and hot bean curry.

Leaving their companions on guard, Tancred and Nicholas approached three Arabs sitting about the fire, their heads covered. At the sound of footsteps, the men turned their heads and measured the newcomers.

“We are looking to buy horses,” Nicholas called in a friendly voice.

One of the men stood and beckoned them to enter the goatskin shelter.

“You come from Cyprus?” the graybeard inquired, scanning first Nicholas, then more cautiously, Tancred.

Tancred avoided a direct reply, as did Nicholas, whose cleric outfit was wisely concealed beneath a peasant’s rough tunic. Tancred’s armor was not of any particular uniform, but a mixture of the best.

“We are from many places,” Nicholas said with a smile. “And your caravan?” Does it come from far?”

“Aleppo.”

While Tancred deliberately remained in the background, Nicholas gestured to the pen of horses. “They look to be of a good breed. Are you willing to sell?”

The Arab’s alert gaze studied them. “If it is Allah’s good pleasure to see them with another,” he said evasively. “We were bringing them to Antioch to be sold to Prince Kalid, but the way grows dangerous for travel.”

Tancred affected indifference as though he’d never heard the name.  Nicholas inquired, “How goes the preparation for the siege against the barbarians?”

The sharp dark eyes of the Arab were equally cautious. “News from Armenian shepherds tells us they have crossed the mountains. In Antioch the great Yaghi-Sian prepares for battle. His Seljuk commander, Kerbogha, expects more soldiers from the sultan at Aleppo to ride to their defense.”

We dare not ask too many questions about their defenses
, Tancred thought, and spoke for the first time. “Kerbogha rules your city of Aleppo?” He already knew as much, and that the Arabs looked upon the Turks as being little better than Byzantines.

“You have heard of Kerbogha?” the Arab asked.

Nicholas turned to Tancred, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Have you heard of him, my son?”

“Who has not?” Tancred said. “He is much feared. A ferocious fighter.”

The eyes of the Arab looked to question Tancred’s weaponry. “You also look a warrior.” He went on, “There is talk that the barbarians from the West are fighting equals. They defeated the Red Lion near Nicaea. There is news that one of their chief princes has taken Edessa. He married an Armenian princess—a Christian. Kerbogha rode with his Turks to free Edessa—but failed to retake the area.”

Was the Arab measuring his response? Tancred showed none, and instead gestured the second time toward the horses. “Prince Kalid collects horses?” He thought of Alzira….

“He races them. There are none to best these.”

“We wish to purchase five of them,” Nicholas said. He reached beneath his tunic and produced a leather pouch. “We will pay well if they are as good you say.”

“Ah!” the Arab smiled for the first time.

The bartering continued until Tancred began to fear the light of day. At last Nicholas paid the man, and bidding them peace, they went to get the horses.

The Arab led them to the pen. The rain had ceased. “If you ride on to Antioch, you may see the father of this mare.” He had cunningly guessed their destination in spite of their caution. “The stallion belongs to Prince Kalid. It is said that he will give such a horse to his bride for a wedding gift.”

Tancred struggled to restrain himself. “When is the marriage to be?” he asked with apparent disinterest, examining his new horse with satisfaction.

“Who knows?” the Arab said with a shrug.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “Come, my son,” he said to Tancred. “The dawn will soon break. We have troubled our Arab friend long enough.”

They saluted the Arabs and mounted two of the horses, leading the other three back to where Bardas, Rufus, and Demetrious anxiously awaited.

“We began to worry, Seigneurs,” said Bardas.

The five rode from St. Symeon while it was yet dark. Before them lay the road to Antioch and the castle. Beside owning a good horse again, Tancred was well equipped. He carried his Toledo sword, a Damascus dagger, and a scimitar. In his bag were his hand-drawn maps, the one of Antioch detailing its environs and its twelve gates—one of which was named after the Apostle Paul. The other drawing he had made was of the Castle of Hohms. Within his inner garment Helena’s remaining jewels of were sewn securely. He had an advantage the western princes did not have: the location of the emir’s palace, where Mosul served as chief bodyguard, as well as a detailed layout of the chambers, including the
zenanna
—the women’s area, and the eunuch guard’s quarters.

It was about twenty miles from the sea to Antioch, which lay on the banks of the Orontes River. They followed the river where possible with the mountainous country of Syria to the south, then traveled eastward toward the ancient city.

The Orontes ran along the far side of the plain, and beyond it rose the city’s great frontal wall, which ran for several miles beside the river. Tancred studied the impressive fortification as it rambled steeply upward to disappear over the hills then emerge again along laurel trees, olive groves, and sesame plantations.

The impregnable wall of gray stone looked to him to be at least thirty feet high, and he’d been told that it was wide enough across its top to ride four horses abreast like the ancient walls of Babylon.  The tower-studded walls then climbed farther up to the shoulder of Mount Silpius, where he recognized a huge tower-citadel a thousand feet above the plain!

Tancred had discovered from his studies in the Royal Library that Antioch would be unassailable to the crusaders’ attack, and from looking at the ancient city, he agreed. In addition to the great wall surrounding the city, a half-wall stood below the hills, its five main gates staring down as though mocking the advancing army from the west. Each of these gates was flanked strategically by a massive sixty-foot tower, guarded by well-armed Seljuk Turks carrying their deadly short bows and scimitars. Tancred suspected they watched them now as they approached the gate that opened toward the east and the road leading on to Aleppo.

Tancred held his mount. The siege lines of the crusading feudal lords lay before him. Many had perished on the hard, bitter journey across the bleak and barren mountains of Anatolia where sparse summer grasslands were scorched with heat, and the dry volcanic plains appeared lifeless. The knights had lost precious supplies and some of their prized Great Horses, but the bulk of the fighting men under the various princes and nobles had arrived and were camped far as the eye could see outside the great walls of the city.

Nicholas was grave as he reined in his horse beside Tancred. “It is a tribute to their courage that the majority of them have survived. The knights and barons of Western Europe are a force the Muslim Turks will find difficult to defeat. Already Nicaea has fallen, followed by Iconium, Capadocia, Tarsus on the coast, Heraclea, and Edessa.”

“I’ve read those names in the New Testament in the Apostle Paul’s letters,” Tancred said.

“Yes, the Gospel of Christ spread throughout the entire Roman Empire and beyond. Antioch,” said Nicholas, gesturing to the city, “was where Barnabas and Paul, received their commission from the Holy Spirit to bring the news of Christ’s atoning death and bodily resurrection to all nations. There’s a lot of Biblical history here. One of those twelve gates is called the Gate of Saint Paul.”

Tancred grew silent as he gazed upon the city. He now wondered how could he get inside?

“Though the knights and fighting men number over a hundred thousand,” Nicholas continued, “they cannot breach those walls, and little remains of their food supplies.”

Nicholas fell silent. Tancred guessed they were both thinking the same thing. Famine stalked the crusaders. “And we are going to need some food for our own strength.”

Rufus spoke up. “Some of us will ride into the smaller districts, and wealthy villas, and look for food and provision for our horses.”

But when Bardas, Rufus, and Captain Demetrious returned, it was with dour faces. “The Armenians and Arabs informed us they have long ago been looted of poultry, sheep, wine, and clothing,” Bardas said.

Tancred was not surprised at the news. He had expected as much.

“The country is stripped bare,” Captain Demetrious added.

“Let us hope and pray that Captain Rainald and the Genoese take control of the port,” Nicholas encouraged. "I will ride into the camp to try to locate Adehemar,” he said, speaking of his old bishop friend who was Pope Urban’s official church legate on the expedition. “He is a friend of your uncle Rolf, and may have earlier ridden to the Castle of Hohms to visit him. It may be he knows something of Helena and Adrianna, and whether both women are held captive within Antioch. I put nothing past Bishop Basel. He may be in the city as well, dining on a fatted calf with Yaghi-Sian.”

At the mention of fatted calf, a groan sounded in harmony from Bardas and Rufus. Demetrious chuckled. “I’d be happy with a rooster.”

As Nicholas rode toward the camp where the blue-and-crimson gonfanon stood like a sentinel in the hot morning, Tancred stood beside his horse, brooding to himself as he contemplated the walls and gates. He would get inside somehow.  He must wait for an opportunity.