The blask rood

THIRTY

Prince Leo's death immediately plunged all the members of the royal family into a multitude of tedious and time-consuming rituals and formalities. The foreign visitors were quickly forgotten; Padraig and I gladly fended for ourselves lest we become a burden to our hosts in their time of distress. Anxious as I was to depart, I would gladly have left the city right then and there, but, in deference to Roupen's feelings, could not bring myself to just sneak away like a thief in the night. Thus, as we had nothing else to do, we took the opportunity to wander around the streets of Anazarbus and see for ourselves how the passing of the noble ruler was marked by the populace.

What I saw was a city sunk in grief over the loss of their much-loved prince. Apparently, Leo had governed his people wisely and well for many years, and the Armenians were genuinely sorry he was gone. Everywhere men and women went about their chores with the mournful countenances of the truly sorrowful, speaking in pensive tones. Scores of small shrines sprang up in the streets-here a painting of the prince, there a carving, or perhaps simply a coin on which Leo's image had been stamped-and each adorned with a palm frond or bit of green foliage, and a candle or lamp. Whenever anyone passed one of these makeshift shrines, he made the sign of the cross on his forehead.

Many of the older men and women wore ashes in their hair, and on their garments; some donned sacking cloth as well. Everyone observed the great prince's passing in a seemly way, and even the younger folk adopted a dutifully subdued and melancholy air.

If ever an entire city grieved, Anazarbus was that place.

The prince himself lay in a gilded casket in the Church of Saint George and Saint Nicholas, the principle church of the city, serving as the cathedral for the Armenian observance. A large, but not imposing building of red stone, it was spare and plain, without much in the way of fussy adornment-much like the chapels the Cele De build.

All morning long, Padraig and I strolled about the city, marvelling at the long lines of mourners snaking across the square and into the surrounding streets as the people streamed in and out of the church where Leo's body lay. Every now and then, one of the grieving throng would suddenly throw his hands towards heaven, and let out a heartfelt, wailing cry. Otherwise, the crowds were quiet and respectful.

The monk was keenly fascinated to see how the Armenians conducted their religious services, and was enthralled by the endless ritual. For myself, however, the sorrowing crowds and religious feeling seemed wrong, or at least inappropriate for a city and nation teetering on the precipice of war.

Immersed in mourning, Thoros appeared to have given no further thought to either the Seljuqs lurking in the hills, nor the looming danger of attack by Bohemond and his knights. The beloved Prince Leo's death swept all else aside. Certainly, beyond the posting of a few more soldiers on the walls, there was no other preparation that I could see.

This amazed and troubled me greatly. Why had we risked life and limb to bring a warning that was to remain unheeded? If the rulers of Armenia did not care about their city and the lives of their people, why should we?

Disturbed and distraught, I turned from the gate and started back to the palace, resolved to wait no longer: we would leave at once. I reached the palace forecourt just in time to witness the arrival of a sizeable contingent of Seljuqs. I watched from the inner palace yard as the Turks were conducted with great ceremony into the hall, which had been hastily prepared to receive mourners. Prince Leo's funeral was to begin at dusk and the various services, rituals, and observances would continue through the night, culminating with the burial which would take place at dawn the next morning.

I stood in the shadows and watched as the Seljuq emissaries were met by a delegation of Armenian nobles, and immediately led into the hall where Thoros, his mother, and other members of the royal family were holding court. The extreme civility of their welcome did astonish me, and I must have worn my amazement on my face, for Nurmal, enjoying the fresh air and quiet of the pleasant courtyard, approached, took one look at me, and said, 'What, and have you never seen a Seljuq before?'

'Never,' I replied. 'In truth, I cannot decide which I find the more incredible-that they should wish to honour the prince in this way, or that an avowed enemy should be allowed inside the walls to pay their respects to the mourning family.'

Nurmal chuckled. 'I do not know what it is like in your country, my friend, but here our hostilities are not carved in stone. Our enmities are more fluid-like streams in the desert, continually shifting and changing. The enemy you meet today might be the friend you call upon tomorrow. You must remember that.'

He was speaking a simple truth of the East, and one I had not yet fully grasped. Even so, I heard in the words a foreboding that chilled me to the marrow. I thought: if enmities are so loosely held, then loyalties are likewise inconstant.

'Only yesterday, the city was in a state of alarm lest the dreaded Seljuq attack at any moment,' I pointed out.

'True,' Nurmal agreed cheerfully. 'But that was then. Things have changed. What hope would there be for anyone if nothing ever changed?'

With Nurmal's words rolling around in my head, I hurried off to find Yordanus and Sydoni, neither one of whom had I seen since the banquet the night before. I went to the small dining chamber where Thoros had served us wine before the banquet and there found Roupen with his brother Constantine.

They were speaking so earnestly to one another that I thought it best not to intrude. Nevertheless, I could not help overhearing. '-a very dangerous business,' Constantine was saying. 'Even Thoros must see that. If he does not, he is not fit to rule in father's place. I swear to you -'

I came into Roupen's view just then and they ceased their conversation at once-almost guiltily, as it seemed to me. 'My friend,' called Roupen, 'you must forgive us for neglecting you. The demands of royalty are especially onerous at times like this.'

'I understand completely,' I replied, assuring them there was no need to trouble themselves on my account. They hesitated then, anxious to conclude their conversation, so I said, 'Please excuse me, I am looking for Yordanus.'

'We have not seen him,' replied Constantine bluntly. 'No doubt he is still in his chamber.'

'Come to the hall at midday,' Roupen suggested with a tight smile, 'and you will be included in the royal party. I will look for you then.'

I thanked them and moved off, aware of Constantine's pent-up fury. Although it was none of my affair, I could not help wondering what lay behind his agitation. Putting it out of my mind, I found my way to the wing of the palace where Yordanus and Sydoni had been given rooms. The old trader was sitting in a chair, gazing out the open window over the rooftops of the low buildings surrounding the palace.

I greeted him and, not wishing to waste time, explained my deep misgivings over the utter lack of preparation to meet Bohemond's army. I told him that Padraig and I were leaving Anazarbus and, in light of the fact that the city was largely undefended against the imminent attack, suggested that he and his daughter should seriously consider doing the same. 'Of course,' I said, 'we will be happy to escort you and Sydoni to Mamistra.'

He nodded gravely. 'When?'

'As soon as I can arrange horses and provisions-no later than midday.'

'Go then. I will tell Sydoni.'

'Come to the stables as soon as you are ready.'

Next, I hastened to speak to the hostlers about making ready five of Nurmal's horses. I had it in mind that, if Nurmal was agreeable, we might return the horses to Mamistra for him. If need be, I would buy them; the brooch Princess Elena had given me would no doubt purchase a half dozen of his best.

On the way, I found Padraig and told him to hurry and secure enough provisions to see us on our way. 'Get Roupen to help you. He owes us that much, I guess.' So saying, I continued on to the stables, but could find no one who spoke Latin, and with my poor Greek, it took longer than I had hoped to make them understand what I wanted.

I succeeded at last, and then rushed back to the palace to gather my things and take leave of Roupen. Nurmal was in his chamber across the corridor from ours; he was lying on his bed, resting before the evening's ceremonies. I quickly told him my plan, and begged the use of his horses to return to Mamistra. 'Of course, my friend,' he said. 'It was always understood that we would return sooner or later. Go, and with my blessing. But,' he added, 'if you do not mind my asking, why are you in such a hurry? Half the day is almost gone, and you cannot get far before nightfall. Why not wait until tomorrow? Better still, stay a few more days and we will all return together.'

'There is a battle coming, whether anyone in Anazarbus believes it or cares.' I told him I wanted no part of it, that greedy Prince Bohemond's boundary squabble was none of my affair. So far as I was concerned, I had done my duty by Roupen and his people; now it was for them to do what they would. As for myself and Padraig, we would wait no longer; we were leaving the city at once.

Nurmal regarded me with an amused expression. 'There is no hurry, my friend,' he said. 'We can leave whenever we wish.'

'Bohemond and his army could be here at any moment,' I snapped, unable to keep the growing frustration out of my voice. 'He is coming with hundreds of mounted knights and a few thousand footmen. I have no wish to be trapped in a city under siege, much less help defend one.'

'Calm yourself,' Nurmal said. 'Bohemond will never even see the city walls.'

The way he said it-with such careless confidence-sent a warning tingle through me. I stared at him. 'Why? What do you know of this?'

'Amir Ghazi will deal with them,' he said, pushing himself up on an elbow, 'and he has many thousand warriors-all of them mounted, all of them eager to die for the glory of Islam and a martyr's paradise.'

I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 'The Seljuqs? Why would they intervene?'

'We have a saying,' Nurmal replied easily. 'My enemy's enemy is my friend. Thoros understands this better than most. He owes Amir Ghazi a very great sum of money. How better to repay his heavy debt than to offer Ghazi the particular honour of, shall we say, delivering Prince Bohemond and his men into Seljuq hands?' He smiled placidly. 'It is a perfect solution: Anazarbus is spared, the invader is defeated, and Ghazi receives the irresistible opportunity to recapture Antioch. Harmony and balance is restored.'

'But this is monstrous!' I protested, stunned by the duplicity of the bargain.

The canny horse-trader shook his head. 'No, it is simple expedience, my friend.'

'If I had imagined such deceit, I would never have left Antioch,' I declared, shaking with fury. 'This is intolerable! Unthinkable! It must be stopped.'

Nurmal frowned with benign pity. 'Peace, Duncan. You will do yourself an injury.' He rose from the bed, and put his hands on my shoulders in a gesture of fatherly advice. 'While I admire your sense of honour, I do not understand your scruples. Why did you come here?'

I did not understand what he was asking. 'You know as well as anyone why we came here.'

'You came to warn the Armenians of Bohemond's attack,' Nurmal said. 'Is this not so?'

'Yes, but -'

'What did you think would happen?'

'I did not think…' I began, and faltered, realizing how I had been used. 'My warning has been turned to treachery. I have been made a traitor!'

'Why speak of treachery?' Nurmal demanded, beginning to lose patience with me. 'Where is the betrayal? Where is the treason? Listen to me, my friend. There is no betrayal; there is only fate, and the capricious accidents of war. You learned of the coming attack and flew to prevent a slaughter -'

'Yes! For the love of God, I only thought to prevent it.'

'Well, you have succeeded. It is prevented. Amir Ghazi will see to that, never fear.'

'The slaughter is not prevented;' I growled, my spirit writhing with guilt, 'it is merely diverted.'

Futility and shame descended in heavy waves upon me. I turned on my heel and fled the room. He called after me, but I made no reply. I quickly retrieved my belongings; there was nothing much to gather -my clothes had been taken away for cleaning, and had not been returned.

Very well, I would escape in what I was wearing, I decided, and leave all else behind. I had half a mind to leave the jewelled bauble Princess Elena had given me -1 wanted nothing from the Armenians. But practicality got the better of that decision; we would need money if we were to reach Antioch in good time, and the brooch was very valuable. So, I took it from its box, and pinned it to the inside of my mantle next to my skin where it would be safe.

Padraig was waiting with Roupen in the stables. The young lord was unhappy to see us leaving with such unseemly haste. 'I wish it could be otherwise,' I told him. He asked me to reconsider, but I declined. Seeing there was no changing my mind, he gave in with good grace and told me how much he valued our friendship, and that he would pray we concluded our pilgrimage safely.

Yordanus and Sydoni appeared in the doorway then, and Roupen went to bid them farewell and to thank them for their inestimable help in getting him home in time to see his father before he died. While they talked, Padraig and I examined the horses and the packs of provisions; satisfied that all was in order, we led the beasts out into the yard, and bade Roupen a last farewell.

We rode through the gates and out onto the road by which we had come, leaving Anazarbus behind. The sun was high onto midday; the weather was fine and bright, and hot, and we made fair speed with Nurmal's splendid horses. I had chosen the same mounts we had ridden before so they would know us: the speckled grey for me, the roan for Padraig, and the two chestnut mares for Sydoni and Yordanus.

When the city was no longer in sight, we paused briefly for water, and then rode on, at a slightly less frantic pace. Once in the saddle again, I felt slightly less apprehensive. Whatever happened, I thought, it was no longer any of my concern. I had done what I could, and my help had been twisted and perverted in its use. I desired no part of anything so nefarious, and was heartily glad not to have to stay another night in that haven of treachery.

Now, at this remove, Gait, I can but marvel at the innocence of my thoughts and emotions on that day. Nurmal spoke the cold heart of the matter, and he spoke the truth. Bohemond had chosen his course; long before he reached Anazarbus, he had committed his life and the lives of his men to his witless plan.

Why did I imagine anything I might do or say could have changed anything? Did I really think I could sway the balance of heavenly justice?

Who was I, after all, but an ignorant meddler in matters too far above me to even contemplate? How in the name of all that is holy did I hope to prevent that arrogant young prince reaping the harvest of his insatiable ambition?

And why, oh why, did I even try?

The answer, I think, is that I could not in good conscience abide the thought of Christians making war on their Christian brothers, of believers pursuing the hateful waste of God's precious gift of life for the most frivolous and imbecilic of reasons. Blind and arbitrary fortune had placed me in a position to know certain things-the movements of armies, the intentions of rulers-and I had somehow concocted the belief that this knowledge brought with it an obligation to use it wisely and for good.

This is emotion, as I say, not reason. If I had stopped, even for a moment, and reflected on the matter, I would have seen grim futility looming starkly before me. If only I had asked myself one simple question: what did I want?

Now, after endless months of sober reflection, I have come to the conclusion that what I wanted was simply for everyone to sit down across the table and work out their differences in a sane and sensible manner. I believed that fellow Christians, Frank and Armenian, could be united against the common Seljuq enemy. In short, I wanted peace to prevail, and saw no just reason why it should not. I believed that one man of good will could make a difference and that God would honour those who strove to honour him.

In the madness that passes for sanity in the East, this belief was pure delusion. An infinitely sadder and wiser man understands that now.

On that fateful day, however, I raced from the city, eager to distance myself from the insidious deceit of the place and for Padraig and me to resume our pilgrimage. I pressed a swift pace along the rough, uneven road, my heart burning within me, wishing I had never heard of Ghazi, Thoros, or Bohemond.

These thoughts were still in my mind a little while later when, as we crested a steep hill, I saw the land fall away and spread out beneath us in a steeply-angled plain. The plain was a rolling, rock-and-thorn thicket wilderness between the rough foothills of the mountains to the north, and the raised cliffs of a deep-chasmed dry river to the south.

Even as I took this in, I pulled on the reins to halt. For there, where the road passed through the centre of the plain, I saw the sprawling mass of what remained of proud Bohemond's army.