Free Shadows on a Sword by Karleen Bradford Page A
Authors: Karleen Bradford
of the long arm of the Sea of Marmora on the other.
It was an incredible, impossible, unbelievably unwieldy procession. The last of the pilgrims did not even set out until far into the day—long after the glittering head of the army had passed out of sight and was well on its way. Theo often turned in his saddle to look back at the people behind him. The line stretched out as far as he could see.
He could not bring himself to be as jubilant as the others. Eight months, he thought. We have been on the road for eight long months. He knew that many in the crusade had assumed they would have been in Jerusalem by now, that the Holy City would have been long conquered. Instead … Memories of the hardships they had already endured crowded into his head. The atrocities …
Eight months. And they had only just begun.
They camped that night at Nicomedia, on the way to their first objective, Nicaea, a Turkish city on the shores of the Ascanian Lake. There the battle to liberate the Holy Lands would truly begin.
Theo was called to a conference in Godfrey’s tent almost as soon as he had finished making his camp. Leaving William to see to the fire and boil up a stew for their dinner, he made his way quickly to Count Garnier, and they went on together. Godfrey was speaking as they pushed aside the flap to his tent and entered. He had recovered from the disaster at Constantinople and, now that they were actually on their way, he was back to his old self. Looking at him, Theo told himself for perhaps the hundredth time that the duke had made the wisest decision at Constantinople—indeed, the only decision. It would have been a catastrophe if he had pressed the attack. The crusaders could not have won, and hundreds of Christians would have been killed.
But Theo was still troubled by the feeling he had had when the duke had turned away. He
had
felt cheated. He had been revolted at the thought of fighting fellow Christians, but sometime during that mad charge his emotions had taken over. All thoughts of God and the crusade’s noble purpose had fled his mind, and he had been filled with a wild exultation. He had been ready to fight, fellow Christians or not. Worse, he had been ready—even eager—to kill.
He had not seen Amalric for days after the aborted attack. When they finally did speak together, Amalric had been quick to defend the duke’s action. It was obvious to Theo that Amalric was bitterly disappointed at not having done battle, and shared none of Theo’s misgivings about these feelings. But Amalric would not hear any criticism of the duke. In any case, Theo could not bring himself to speak about that day, and when Amalric realized this he changed the subject with obvious relief.
“We are in luck,” Duke Godfrey was saying as Theo followed his foster father into the tent. “The Seljuk sultan, Kilij Arslan, is away fighting on the eastern frontier. It was he who defeated Peter’s army so easily, and perhaps because of that victory he does not take us seriously. If he thinks we will be as easy to conquer, he will soon learn his mistake. Foolishly, he has even left his wife and children in Nicaea.”
“And all his treasure,” Baldwin put in. His eyes gleamed. Theo could have sworn he was restraining himself with difficulty from licking his lips.
A disturbance at the tent’s entrance interrupted them. A man pushed his way in, brushing past protesting guards. He was dirty and ragged, with limp, greasy hair hanging down around his shoulders, but in spite of his appearance, he held himself with the bearing of a king. His eyes shone with a peculiar sort of light. Theo stared at him.
“I am Peter. I have come to join you and bring those of my followers who are still with me to you. You will have need of me.” His voice rang out within the tent.
Peter the Hermit himself!
Godfrey rose. He gestured to the guards to leave. “You are welcome,” he said. “Your knowledge of this area will be invaluable to us.” There
It was an incredible, impossible, unbelievably unwieldy procession. The last of the pilgrims did not even set out until far into the day—long after the glittering head of the army had passed out of sight and was well on its way. Theo often turned in his saddle to look back at the people behind him. The line stretched out as far as he could see.
He could not bring himself to be as jubilant as the others. Eight months, he thought. We have been on the road for eight long months. He knew that many in the crusade had assumed they would have been in Jerusalem by now, that the Holy City would have been long conquered. Instead … Memories of the hardships they had already endured crowded into his head. The atrocities …
Eight months. And they had only just begun.
They camped that night at Nicomedia, on the way to their first objective, Nicaea, a Turkish city on the shores of the Ascanian Lake. There the battle to liberate the Holy Lands would truly begin.
Theo was called to a conference in Godfrey’s tent almost as soon as he had finished making his camp. Leaving William to see to the fire and boil up a stew for their dinner, he made his way quickly to Count Garnier, and they went on together. Godfrey was speaking as they pushed aside the flap to his tent and entered. He had recovered from the disaster at Constantinople and, now that they were actually on their way, he was back to his old self. Looking at him, Theo told himself for perhaps the hundredth time that the duke had made the wisest decision at Constantinople—indeed, the only decision. It would have been a catastrophe if he had pressed the attack. The crusaders could not have won, and hundreds of Christians would have been killed.
But Theo was still troubled by the feeling he had had when the duke had turned away. He
had
felt cheated. He had been revolted at the thought of fighting fellow Christians, but sometime during that mad charge his emotions had taken over. All thoughts of God and the crusade’s noble purpose had fled his mind, and he had been filled with a wild exultation. He had been ready to fight, fellow Christians or not. Worse, he had been ready—even eager—to kill.
He had not seen Amalric for days after the aborted attack. When they finally did speak together, Amalric had been quick to defend the duke’s action. It was obvious to Theo that Amalric was bitterly disappointed at not having done battle, and shared none of Theo’s misgivings about these feelings. But Amalric would not hear any criticism of the duke. In any case, Theo could not bring himself to speak about that day, and when Amalric realized this he changed the subject with obvious relief.
“We are in luck,” Duke Godfrey was saying as Theo followed his foster father into the tent. “The Seljuk sultan, Kilij Arslan, is away fighting on the eastern frontier. It was he who defeated Peter’s army so easily, and perhaps because of that victory he does not take us seriously. If he thinks we will be as easy to conquer, he will soon learn his mistake. Foolishly, he has even left his wife and children in Nicaea.”
“And all his treasure,” Baldwin put in. His eyes gleamed. Theo could have sworn he was restraining himself with difficulty from licking his lips.
A disturbance at the tent’s entrance interrupted them. A man pushed his way in, brushing past protesting guards. He was dirty and ragged, with limp, greasy hair hanging down around his shoulders, but in spite of his appearance, he held himself with the bearing of a king. His eyes shone with a peculiar sort of light. Theo stared at him.
“I am Peter. I have come to join you and bring those of my followers who are still with me to you. You will have need of me.” His voice rang out within the tent.
Peter the Hermit himself!
Godfrey rose. He gestured to the guards to leave. “You are welcome,” he said. “Your knowledge of this area will be invaluable to us.” There