Beloved Pilgrim (37 page)

There was one more horseman between her and
the friendly forces on the hill. The momentum of her charge was
gone with the trampling of a half dozen enemy and skewering of
several spearmen. She kicked Gauner forward to the left of the
final foe and swung her sword up between the horses toward his
chin. He met her sword with his own, easily knocking it aside. They
circled hammering each other's swords oblivious of the battle
swirling around them. Elisabeth feared for her life, as the archer
had developed shoulders and arms from using the small curved bow of
the Turks. The man slashed downward just missing Elisabeth's nose
and buried his blade in the pommel of her saddle. As he yanked to
get it free, she gritted and bared her teeth, her hair and face
streaming with sweat and blood. She delivered a thrust to his
armpit that produced a blood curdling shriek from the man that she
could hear even over the clamor of battle.

Elisabeth looked about for the next challenge
and turned back to the fight instead of riding toward the safety of
the friendly lines on the hill. She could feel she was trembling
all over, as much from the effort as from fear. She wished she had
a hand free to grab her water skin and wet her dry mouth, but a man
on foot was coming at her with a spear. She leaned to one side of
his thrust and grabbed its shaft just behind the point and jerked
the weapon out of the man's hands. She enjoyed his startled look
just before she whacked him on the side of the head with the haft.
He staggered back while she reversed the spear and thrust it into
his chest. She left the spear protruding from him where he fell
amid the horses' hooves.

Suddenly the press of the melee eased. Many
of the Danishmend archers had wheeled and were riding away. She
found herself watching the mercenary Ragnar rush after one turning
archer. He caught the man from behind but struck only armor on his
back with his sword. The man turned in his saddle, a scream of rage
on his lips, and he turned his mount so he could meet Ragnar's next
blow. It was then that Elisabeth realized she had recognized the
Dane because he had lost his helm. With horror she saw the archer
bring down his blade, deflect it from Ragnar's own, then sweep
around to be embedded in the Dane's neck, cutting deep. Elisabeth
knew she must be mistaken, for she had thought she saw a look of
sheer joy on the Dane's lips just as the sword took him.

She had no time to look about for Ranulf to
see if he had seen Ragnar's death, for now she was set upon by two
men who drove their mounts on either side of Gauner. Again,
Elisabeth knew she must be losing her mind, because she could have
sworn she heard Gauner chuckle. He kicked out first with the legs
on one side and then the other. The first horse screamed as his leg
broke. The archer riding it flew off and away. The second horse was
struck in the head, fell forward, pitching the rider with the
velocity of a slung stone.

Elisabeth had heard of the battle joy and
wondered if it was a peculiarly male thing, but now she learned
that the savagery knew no barriers. After initial panic, which she
mastered, came the rote response of her training and finally as the
chaos built the joy came. She screamed herself hoarse, dealt and
received blows, not tiring, not feeling pain, melding with Gauner
as a single entity, a killing entity. The madness must have
truncated time for her, for all at once she realized the light was
failing and the Turks were riding away. She heard her own breath,
raspy and gasping. Her arm ached from wielding her sword,
nevertheless it twitched to find another Turk to slice into.

The Turkish archers were melting away fast.
Finally, with combat more suited to the European knights' training,
their superior armor, weapons, and in this context, mounts, could
prevail. Elisabeth found herself and Gauner standing amid corpses
of men and horses, stunned and unable to comprehend the horror. A
stray thread about wishing Albrecht had fought beside her wound
through her sluggish mind.

The rest of the pilgrims had not seen
hand-to-hand combat, but only faced more of the relentless
onslaught of arrows.

Somehow Conrad and his men made their way to
where the remaining three commanders faced the onslaught of arrows.
Elisabeth had no memory of how they had gotten through the rush of
Danishmend and Turks, but could only register that she sat on her
horse several feet away as Raymond greeted Conrad with evident
joy.

Elisabeth became aware first of the sound of
cheering. She sat astride her battle horse fairly quivering with
adrenaline, wondering what the sound was and who was making it. Her
vision seemed to have acquired a bluish filter, and her focus
narrowed. She did not hear or see when the mercenary captain Ranulf
came alongside her and spoke her name, Elias, over and over.

"Elias!" he said again, reaching to tug her
arm but also ready to draw back if her sword came around at him.
She slowly turned and looked at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes
bright, and she was covered with blood, hers and Turks', and maybe
even some of her own men's.

"Ranulf?" she said weakly. Her voice to
herself sounded like it came from a mile away.

"Come with me. Let's get you looked at."

"No!" she said automatically. "Don't
look!"

He dismounted and came to Gauner's head.
Taking both sets of reins from her hands, he said in a calm voice,
"It is all right, Elias. Let's just go over here and see if there
is any water."

"Water." She let him take the reins and lead
her and his own horse to the spring at the base of the hill. He
reached up to help her dismount. She flinched automatically. "I can
do it."

She dismounted. He led the horses to the
water while she went to a garden wall of natural stones and,
putting her back to it, slid down until her arse was on the ground.
She took off her helm. To her utter dismay she burst out weeping.
It came in great gulping sobs. She was close to hysteria.

Ranulf let her cry for a few minutes, then,
kneeling before her, he took her shoulders and shook her
violently.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"
she shot at him, coming at last to herself.

"Just bringing you back to the miserable
present." He let himself fall beside her to sit almost shoulder to
shoulder.

"Oh my God, I was weeping like a woman,"
Elisabeth howled after a brief pause.

Ranulf said sharply, "Shut up, Elias. It's
what happens. This is your first all-out battle. Everyone weeps
after their first. The noise, the fear, the smells, the chaos . . .
then the fever. You can't stop it."

She stared at him uncomprehending, then
looked back out onto the body-littered plain and asked, "The fever?
I had the fever."

Ranulf put his face in his hands. "That you
did. I had my own hands full, but when I happened to look over
where you were, you were slashing all around you, taking down
Turks."

She looked hard at him. "I was? I did?" She
wondered why she felt so hollow.

"The look on your face! Like some sort of
demon. If I ever thought you looked girlish, I don't now."

She could not register the meaning.

A young boy from the encampment brought water
around in a bucket. He had a big spoon, like a ladle, and gave each
man one drink, then went on to the next man. He could not let them
have any more. Besides being in short supply, the water would do no
man any good to overindulge. Most were in some stage of shock.

The small drink certainly did Elisabeth good.
She was able now to form coherent thoughts and turned to Ranulf,
who still sat with his face in his hands. "Who won?"

He looked at her, incredulous. "Won?" he
asked. "Nobody won. We just held out longer than they did. For
now."

"What happened?" she pursued.

"They just up and rode away. Like all the
other times." His face was so haggard he almost did not look like
himself. "Ragnar is dead."

"I know. I saw him die. He had a smile on his
lips."

Ranulf made a derisive snort. "He would, God
love him." He reached into his leather brigandine and drew out
Ruggiero's ring. "I guess I will have to take this now."

"Any news of Thomas . . . and Albrecht?"

"Yes and no," he said. "I don't know about
Albrecht. I saw Thomas among the crossbowmen in the hill, but never
spoke to him. Never even got a chance to wish him Godspeed."

Her eyes rested rather vacantly on the
captain. "Never . . . spoke to him. Never."

"Yes, Thomas is dead now too. It's just me
now."

"Oh Ranulf," she moaned.

"They came here to support me, to help me
expiate my guilt. Now they are dead, but I am still alive. Tell
me," he said, looking into her face in anguish, "What sense does
that make?"

She had no answer. She looked away, put her
head back against the wall, and closed her eyes.

The world became nothing more than the
constant heat, body aches, thirst and noise. The sounds were no
longer of clashing metal and battle cries. Now all she could hear
was weeping, moans, cries and prayers of the wounded and dying.

Elisabeth drifted out of consciousness and
into a dream. She was walking with Elias and Albrecht through a
meadow filled with tiny white and yellow flowers. She ran toward
the top of the hill and spun to call to the boys. They were not
there. She was alone. A snort drew her attention to where Gauner
stood, lathered with the yellow white foam of sweat, breathing
heavily and splashed with blood. "Oh Gauner," she sighed. Somewhere
cattle were lowing and a bird sang.

As the sun was setting and the sudden chill
invaded clothing soaked with sweat, Elisabeth toured the camp. She
was numb from the horrors and exhilarations of the day her sorrow
over Albrecht's likely death was undifferentiated. It was just part
of the dull ache in her chest. She cast her eyes about as she
passed clumps of men. She heard her name, or rather her brother's,
and turned to find Black Beast dragging himself up off his haunches
to approach her.

"Elias, my God, you are still alive!" the big
man cried. He slapped his hands down hard on Elisabeth's shoulders.
He had a manic grin on his face. "I can't believe it! Have you seen
Gerhardt?"

She stared at him. "No, I haven't. The only
one I could find was the mercenary captain. Ranulf. The Dane is
dead. So is Thomas the crossbowman. You?"

Black Beast's grin disappeared. "I hoped you
had seen Gerhardt. Alain and I have been looking all over for him."
He paused, "My squire is over there, but Alain's is gone and we
haven't seen Gerhardt's. At least yours is alive, after a
fashion."

Elisabeth grasped his arm with a sudden death
grip. "Albrecht? Is alive?"

"Your squire is in Conrad's encampment. He
made it back here but is pretty badly wounded." He watched as the
young knight hurried away.

Elisabeth tore through the tangle of men and
animals to where she knew the Constable would be. There was a tent
set up quite near the command tent of the Holy Roman Emperor's
faction. She slipped in through the open flap and stood waiting for
her eyes to adjust. She called, "Albrecht?" softly.

"I am here," the familiar voice called back
from her left. She made her way there, stepping over prone men who
moaned or prayed or both. She found herself at her squire's side.
She was so relieved she threw her arms around him. She remembered
herself just before she leaned to kiss his cheek. Glancing around
she saw puzzled looks and a leering man with a broken arm.

"What happened?" she asked rather
inanely.

Albrecht gestured to her water bottle. As she
pulled out the bung he began, "It was just as we were making our
escape from the Danishmend camp. Thomas found and stole a horse. I
got up behind him, and as we headed toward this place I felt
something whack my thigh hard. I knew it was an arrow. I just did
not know if it was poisoned." Her look made him rush to add, "It
doesn't seem like it was. Funny, I did not feel any pain. Just all
of a sudden I could not sit upright. I held onto Thomas as we rode
away." He tried to grasp her arm. "I can't believe you are still
alive, Elisa-Elias." He took a long draught of the water and
replaced the bung.

"Is . . . is your wound mortal?" She gestured
to the blood-soaked bandage on his leg.

"No, I think I just lost a lot of blood. I am
starting to feel like I will make it. I hope so anyway. I have
something to live for now."

She formed the word "Andronikos" without
voicing the name.

Albrecht nodded. "What about you? Are you
wounded?" he prodded.

"Uh, yes, some bad cuts and lots of bruises."
She shrugged. "Albrecht, I had it. The battle fever. I just went
mad and killed everything I could reach. I hope I did not kill any
of our own men."

He squeezed her arm. "What about the
others?"

"Ragnar is dead. Ranulf is alive. Thomas is
dead."

Albrecht's face screwed up in a spasm of
pain. When he got his voice back, he groaned, "Oh no, God bless
him. He saved my life. He must have joined the fight after he got
us back here." He looked at her. "That just leaves Ranulf. Is he
all right?"

Elisabeth shrugged. "In body, I think so. In
spirit, not at all. I just met Black Beast in the camp. He and
Alain made it. And the Beast's squire, but Alain's is missing and
so are Gerhardt and his squire."

The man beside him had finally gotten
Elisabeth's notice. She turned back from giving the man, who was
clearly dying, a drink from her water bottle.

"What now?" Albrecht asked.

"More fighting tomorrow, I suppose. Until we
are all dead." She sighed.

The long, hot, exhausting day left the bulk
of the pilgrim army unable to do much more than collapse where they
stood, to sleep deeply with troubled dreams as the night folded
over them. Somewhere in the dark a child fussed. Men who were
bruised or wounded by the Turkish arrows moaned. The sound of
weeping came from a few women in the camp, women whose men lay out
on the plain unclaimed and unburied.