The iron lance

THIRTY-SIX

While Raymond was meeting the emperor's envoy at the palace gates, Murdo and the monks were busy binding Lord Ranulf's treasure into corpse-like bundles. Using the rags Fionn had secured, they bound the various items of gold and silver together and stuffed the spaces between them with dried grass and straw-as much to keep the metal objects from clanking together as to fill out a roughly human shape which they then wrapped in a burial shroud.

They worked quickly, gathering and binding, wrapping and tying. At Fionn's urging, Murdo reluctantly withdrew six gold coins from the heap. 'You are not stealing it, Murdo,' the monk chided, 'merely using some of the first fruits to help save the harvest.'

As soon as the last knot was tied, they dragged the bundles from the tent lest anyone become suspicious of their activity. Lastly, Murdo retrieved his father's sword, shield, and hauberk before abandoning the tent to the use of some other wounded soldier. The three of them settled under a nearby olive tree to await Ronan's return.

'What can be keeping him?' wondered Murdo. He cast an anxious eye over the ungainly bundles, of which there were four-three large, which might pass for adults, and one somewhat smaller, which might be seen as a child. Throughout the camp, the monks and women went about their chores, tending to the wounded and dying. No one seemed to notice the little company waiting for the burial cart; Murdo, fearing they might be discovered at any moment, remained ever alert and watchful.

The baleful sun crossed the sky vault to extinguish itself in a blood-red haze, and still Ronan did not appear. 'I suspect camels are more difficult to obtain than horses or donkeys,' Fionn suggested. 'Ronan macDiarmuid will not fail us. Have faith, Murdo.'

'God is ever moving amidst the chaos,' Emlyn added grandly, 'his subtle purposes to perform. Trust not in the works of men, but in the Almighty whose designs are eternal, and whose deeds outlast the ages.'

Despite repeated entreaties from the two priests to calm himself, Murdo could not rest. Even after dark, he found no peace-for, though he was grateful for relief from the heat, the rising moon shed more than enough light for thieves to work. He looked at the night-dark sky. The stars, veiled by a high-blown haze of smoke, glowed like the eyes of skulking hounds caught by torchlight in the dark.

He drew a hand across his face and tried to wipe away the fatigue. He was hungry and tired, and sore, and the first seeds of sorrow were beginning to take root. Murdo did not mind the hunger, nor his scorched skin, nor his hurting feet; those were small pains compared to the sharp, gnawing ache growing in his heart. He missed his father, and he missed his home; he wanted to see the low green islands of Orkney, and feel the cool northern wind on his face again; he wanted to see Ragna, to hold her, and he wanted this miserable day to end.

Fionn nudged him gently. 'Someone is coming,' he whispered.

Murdo sat up. 'Where?'

'Down there.' Fionn pointed to the trail which wound through the valley below. He could see a grey shape moving on the tree-shadowed path, but it was still too far away to see clearly. Closer, the shape resolved itself into two parts, one large, one small. The large shape had long legs and a steeply-humped back; the smaller, walking beside it, was a man.

'It is Ronan,' Fionn confirmed. 'I told you he would not fail us.' Standing up quickly, he said, 'He will not know where to find us. I will bring him.'

Murdo watched as the monk hurried down the tree-covered hill, his pale form flitting in and out of the moonlight. Upon reaching the trail, he saw Fionn approach the elder priest, whereupon they both turned and proceeded towards them. The camel appeared to grow larger with every step; in fact, it was a far bigger animal than Murdo had realized. And it stank of rancid dung.

Indeed, it was one of the most repulsive creatures Murdo had ever seen. The beast was covered with a thick pelt of matted, mangy hair that hung in ragged clumps; bulging eyes gazed lazily out from a small, flat head perched atop a long, ungainly neck; huge flat feet splayed out from bony, scabrous legs, and its great hump sat like a shabby mountain above its distended belly. The thing shuffled when it walked, and folded itself awkwardly when it lay down-which it did as soon as Ronan stopped tugging on its rein rope.

'We must hurry,' Ronan said upon reaching them. From a yoke-shaped wooden frame he withdrew a wad of cloth which he handed to Murdo. 1 brought you some clothes.'

'We have been waiting all day,' Murdo said bluntly, accepting the clothes.

'I thought it best to wait until nightfall,' the elder priest replied, 'when I knew the beast would not be needed.'

'You stole it!'

'Borrowed it, yes,' corrected Ronan. 'As it says in the Holy Scriptures: As they approached the Mount of Olives, Jesu sent two of his disciples ahead saying, "In the village ahead, you will find a camel tied there. Untie it and bring it to me, and if anyone should ask what you are about, tell them the Lord has need of it, and he will give it to you right away." I simply obeyed the Good Lord.' The priest glanced at the sky to reckon the time. 'Still, it would be best for us if the animal was found in its place by morning.'

'But I am going to Edessa to find my brothers,' Murdo declared.

'As to that, I have had a better thought,' Ronan replied. 'For now, get you dressed while the brothers and I secure the treasure.'

The priest hurried away again, leaving Murdo to stew. He quickly shrugged off Emlyn's mantle, and pulled on the clothes Ronan had brought for him – a pair of breecs, with a wide cloth belt, and an ample siarc of a fine, lightweight material, much like the flowing robes favoured by the inhabitants of the region. There were no boots or shoes, but he could not have worn them anyway. While he dressed, the others busied themselves with loading the treasure.

The work was swiftly done, and Ronan hastened to where Murdo was wrapping the belt around his waist. 'Come, we will get you onto the camel's back.'

Murdo regarded the ramshackle creature dubiously. 'I can walk,' he insisted.

'Your stubbornness does you no credit,' Ronan said firmly. 'You will ride, and that is the end of it.'

Together Emlyn and Fionn hefted Murdo onto the front part of the yoke-shaped frame; he perched on the top, his feet dangling either side of the camel's long neck, the treasure bundles bound either side of the saddle behind him.

Stepping to the head of the camel, the senior cleric said, 'Hist! Hist!' The sleeping animal awoke, tossed its head, and stood, unfolding itself awkwardly and shaking its burden from side to side. Ronan, holding tight to the rein rope, pulled hard and the beast gave out a dreadful blaring blat. 'Hist!' said Ronan sharply. The camel blatted again, but turned and started slowly down the hill towards the trail. Murdo held tight to the wooden pommel with both hands as the animal lurched along, its ungraceful swaying threatening to throw off its reluctant passenger with every step.

They reached the trail and turned towards the city. 'Now will you tell me where we are going?' asked Murdo; he had begun to get the rhythm of the creature's jerking undulations.

'Gladly,' answered the priest. 'While searching around the city today, I learned of a monastery nearby-it is outside the walls, so it escaped pillage. I think we will find the good brothers eager to help.'

'A monastery,' grumbled Murdo. He could see the thing drifting from bad to worse. 'How can that possibly help us?'

'Catacumbae,' said Ronan.

Murdo recognized the word as Latin, but could not recall its meaning, and begged an explanation.

'Often in the East,' explained the elder monk, 'the faithful dead are buried in underground chambers. We can bury our secret there, and the good brothers will watch over it.'

Murdo remained unconvinced. Nothing was further from his mind than leaving the treasure in the care of a monastery full of thieving priests. 'And who will watch the monks so they do not steal it?'

'Have a little faith, Murdo,' answered the monk. 'All will be well.'

Murdo drew no comfort from this vague assurance, but lacked the will to argue the matter further. He settled dejectedly against the unyielding hump behind him, and watched the shadows for thieves. Soon the path met a wider way, and they continued on until the road diverged, whereupon they took the southern track and soon were passing beneath the city walls.

Outside the Jaffa Gate they passed a great smouldering mound.

The embers crackled, sending sparks upwards from the glowing pile. Even from a distance, Murdo could feel the heat on his face and hands, and in amongst the flaming coals he saw human skulls -heaped and jumbled one atop another, skulls by the hundreds, and all of them gaping at him with empty-eyed malice. He imagined the heat he felt was that of their rage at the depravity which had stolen their lives. Unable to face them, he turned his eyes away.

The furtive party proceeded along the western wall towards the cragged hump of Mount Zion rising above the Hinnom valley. Upon reaching the southwestern corner of the wall, the dirt track divided once more: the main strand led away towards Bethlehem and Hebron, and the other bent slightly to the east to begin its winding ascent of the mount.

As they approached the Holy Mountain, Murdo could see the pale glimmer of white-washed buildings gleaming in the moonlight, the largest of which had a dome surmounted by a cross. A moment later, they stopped. 'There is someone on the road,' Ronan said, his voice hushed and low. He pointed to a place where the road ahead bent to the left as it rose towards the mount. 1 think they are coming this way.'

'We should get off the road until they pass by,' Murdo said, looking around. Unfortunately, apart from a few small thorn bushes scattered about, the hillside was barren. There was no place to hide.

The priests saw this, too. 'We will have to trust to God for our protection,' Ronan concluded. 'Come, brothers, a prayer for safe passage.' The three began to pray at once, chanting softly. Murdo continued to search the hillside for a hiding place.

Meanwhile, the strangers came nearer and, seeing the wagon, hastened to meet it. Closer, Murdo saw that there were eight or ten of them-some with swords, and some with spears-and, from the way they stumbled and reeled, he guessed most of them were drunk. Murdo braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.

'You there!' shouted the nearest of the warriors. 'Stay where you are!'

Several of his fellows ran to block the path, even though the camel had already stopped.

The priests made no move, but continued to pray until the soldiers had gathered around them. 'Pax Vobiscum,' said Ronan, not unkindly. 'It is late and you are not abed,' he pointed out in ready Latin. 'Or perhaps you rise early to avoid travelling in the heat of the day.'

Some of the soldiers glanced at one another and shrugged. Others exchanged gruff words in a language Murdo did not understand. Four of the men, he saw now, carried leather bags on their backs, which they swung to the ground as soon as they stopped. By this Murdo knew the bags were heavy with plunder, and the men would not hesitate to add his treasure to their own. He looked down beside his leg, and saw the hilt of his father's sword protruding from under one of the shroud-bound bundles. One quick move and he could have it in his hand.

'Does no one among you speak Latin?' inquired Ronan.

The group muttered menacingly, shifting from foot to foot and grasping their weapons. When no one made to reply, the priest repeated the question in Gaelic. He was on the point of repeating it again, when a figure stepped forth from behind the others. 'I speak a little,' the man said, observing the priests coldly. Turning his attention to the camel, Murdo saw a man of hard countenance; suspicion flowed from him in waves, and lifted the corner of his lip in a sneer. 'What have you got there?'

Indicating the bundles, Ronan said, 'Our dear brother, Lord Ranulf of Orkney, has died from wounds received in Jerusalem.'

The man frowned. 'What about the others?'

'Lord Ranulf had three sons,' the priest explained. 'All were pilgrims like yourself. We are on our way to the Church of Saint Mary. Do you know the place?'

'No,' growled the man. He called something to one of the men standing nearest the camel. The fellow answered, glancing suspiciously at Murdo. He stepped to the side of the animal and began prodding the bundles with the butt of his spear. It was all Murdo could do to keep from snatching up the sword and swinging at the man.

'Why slink around by night if you have nothing to hide?' the foremost soldier asked.

'The sun is hot and causes a corpse to stink prodigiously,' the elder priest explained. 'We hoped to spare our brother this last indignity.' Stretching out his hand in a gesture of friendship, he added, 'We would do no less for you, my friend-or any of your men.'

'Do we look dead to you, priest?' scoffed the soldier.

'May God be praised for his enduring mercy,' said Ronan. 'I pray you will live to see your homes once more.'

Emlyn spoke up then, saying, 'Perhaps you would care to accompany us to the church. We could hear your confessions, and offer prayers for your safety.'

'Forgive me, brother,' interrupted Fionn, 'I would but hasten to remind you that the pope has given full absolution for all sins committed while on crusade. These men are obviously pilgrims like the rest of us; therefore, they need no absolution. Hence, no confessions are required.'

'There may be something in what you say,' conceded Emlyn graciously. 'However, I think you are forgetting that the pope's decree of absolution was to remain in force only for the duration of the crusade. Since the pilgrimage is now completed, I believe the decree has expired.'

The soldiers, uncertain what to make of this discussion, shifted uneasily. Murdo could not believe they would choose this moment to pursue a theological discussion.

'Brothers,' said Ronan, adopting the manner of a master curbing the enthusiasm of his wayward pupils, 'this is not the time or place for such debate. These soldiers must be about their affairs.'

'Of course,' agreed Fionn placidly, 'let them go about their business, I say. There is no need to detain them further.'

'Am I to believe what I am hearing?' complained Emlyn. He thrust an accusing finger into the face of the nearest soldier. 'For all we know, their souls may be in danger of hell this very night. Why indulge such a needless risk? Let them be shriven, I say!'

At this the crusaders moved back a pace, suddenly anxious to leave.

'We do not have time for that now,' the soldier grumbled. 'We are on our way to our camp in the valley. Our lord is waiting for us.'

'The church is not far,' offered Ronan helpfully. 'The service would not take long, and you would soon be on your way.'

The soldiers moved back another pace, eager to be gone from these meddling priests; two or three of them began edging away.

'I told you we have more important affairs to attend to,' the warrior muttered.

'What affairs can be more important than the affairs of a man's soul?' demanded Emlyn.

'Our souls are no concern of yours, priest,' the crusader growled. 'Go your way.'

Ronan acquiesced gracefully. 'Come, brothers, we are not needed here.' He tugged on the camel's rope and the beast lumbered forward, almost throwing Murdo off his perch.

The soldiers stood aside, watching the priests and their camel depart. Emlyn turned aside to offer one last homily. 'Remember, my friends, there is no sin too great for God's forgiveness. Our Heavenly Father stands ready to welcome all who truly repent.'

'Move on, move on!' snapped the soldier irritably. He motioned his companions away, adding, 'A bane on all priests!' under his breath.

The monks began chanting their prayer again and continued on their way. They had gone only a few paces when Murdo, unable to help himself, risked a backward glance and saw that the soldiers were hurrying away down the road. 'They are going away,' said Murdo, and realized he had been holding his breath.

'Of course,' replied Ronan. 'Such sheep are seldom eager for their shearing.'

They reached the Church of Saint Mary to find the church precinct paved with bodies. All around the church, covering the slopes from the foot of the hill to the walls of the monastery, people lay upon the ground in knots and clusters; a few were wrapped in cloaks, but most simply sprawled on the bare earth where they had dropped. At first sight, Murdo thought the slaughter must have continued outside the walls of the city, but these were somewhat more fortunate than their countrymen: they were not dead, merely sleeping.

Murdo looked upon the silent multitude and saw among the clustered throngs Jews and Christians and Muhammedans-all massed together, each against the other, having sought refuge from the storm of death in what must have seemed to them the one safe place in the world on that hateful day.

Here and there, he spied a family group, surrounded by a few pitiful belongings snatched from the destruction of their lives. He felt the emptiness of their loss, and understood how very little separated him from them. All men are fleeing destruction, he thought dismally; some make good their escape for a time, many do not. Still, it catches everyone in the end.

A narrow pathway wound through the mass of bodies to the monastery gate. Leading the camel carefully along the path, the monks picked their way among the sleeping bodies, and arrived at last at the monastery entrance directly behind the huge domed church. The timber doors were shut and barred, but a bell hung from the gatepost, and Emlyn gave the cord a single sharp pull. The sound wakened a few of the sleepers, who grumbled at the disturbance. The door gave forth a creak, and a small door in the larger gate opened. A round, dark face appeared in the gap. 'Who disturbs the peace of this place?'

'Forgive us, brother,' said Ronan. 'We would not trouble you if need were not hard upon us. As you can see, we are priests, too, and we are about a matter of urgency and beg admittance. We desire to speak to your abbot at once.'

The monk regarded them speculatively for a moment, and then said, 'I am sorry, the abbot is holding vigil, and I will not disturb his prayers. You must wait until after terce when the abbot receives his guests-even then, I cannot promise he will see you.' The porter paused, and added, 'These last days have been very difficult for us all.'

'I understand,' replied Ronan equably. 'If that is the best we can hope for, we will abide. But perhaps we might be allowed to wait inside?'

'Again, I must disappoint you,' the monk replied. 'Owing to the sudden arrival of the emperor's emissary, the guest lodge is full to overflowing. Even the yard is full. As you can see, there is room neither inside, nor out.'

'We would not disturb the serenity of this place in any way,' Ronan assured him. 'We require only a place to sit quietly while we wait. You need provide nothing more.'

'Very well,' relented the monk, 'I will let you in.'

'Thank you, brother. May God bless you.'

The little door closed, and they waited. Murdo had begun to think the monk had changed his mind, when he heard a scraping noise coming from the other side of the gate, and a moment later, the door swung open to admit them. They led the camel into the yard, and the gate was closed once more.

The inner yard was a square of hard-packed earth, swept clean, and bounded on three sides by various buildings, and on the fourth by a long wing of cells. Candlelight glowed from the window and doorway of several cells, and from the tiny chapel. There were people sleeping in the yard, hundreds of them, but here the monks had imposed an order on the chaos by arranging everyone in circumspect rows-four ranks on either side of a central pathway.

'I will show you to the stables. You may find a place there to sit while you wait. This way, please.'

They passed along the rows of bodies, and came to a low-roofed open building lined with stalls. There were horses in all the stalls, and picketed outside as well. 'See,' said the porter, 'even the stables are overcrowded. But you may wait here.'

Just then, a tall, white-robed figure emerged from the chapel and started across the yard. Upon seeing the visitors and camel, the figure stopped short and called out, 'Thaddeus? Is something the matter?'

The monk turned. 'No, abbot. I am sorry if we have disturbed your prayers. I was just making these visitors comfortable in the stable.'

'More visitors?' inquired the abbot, starting towards them. 'Truly, we are blessed with an abundance of visitors tonight.' Upon joining the newcomers, the abbot smiled and spread his hands in welcome. 'Greetings, brothers. I see we have the joy of receiving some of our own from other lands. You are welcome here, my friends. I am Philip, abbot of this monastery. Have you travelled far on your pilgrimage?'

'We have come from the land of the Scots at the world's farthest edge, where our monastery rejoices in its labours in the fields of the Lord. As it happens, I am also an abbot of our small, but excellent order.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed Abbot Philip, much impressed by this. 'We must sit together tomorrow when we can talk further. I would hear how the affairs of the church are conducted in the barbarous wilds of which you speak.' He smiled, and made a little bow to the good brothers looking on. 'But you are tired and I will not detain you further. Unless there is something I can do for you, Brother Thaddeus will show you to your rest.'

'Time and circumstance are against us, I know,' Ronan said quickly. 'And I would not trouble you if need were not pressing, but we have begun a work from which we dare not desist until it is completed.' So saying, he indicated the shroud-wrapped bundles on the camel, and invited the abbot to look for himself.

'Ah, I understand,' the abbot said, sorrow shading his tone. 'Are they priests?'

'No, abbot,' answered Ronan. He beckoned the priest a little apart. They spoke to one another in quiet earnest for a moment, and when they returned to where the others were waiting, the abbot raised his eyes to where Murdo sat, still as a stone atop the camel. 'May God bless you richly, my friend. May Our Blessed Lord console you with his loving spirit in your time of grief.'

Murdo made no reply, but nodded his acceptance of the abbot's condolences.

'Brother Thaddeus,' instructed the abbot, 'open the crypt and lead our friends to the catacombs.'

'But abbot, we cannot-' objected the monk.

'Please, the night is far spent,' Abbot Philip told him. 'Do as I say. All will be made clear in God's good time.'

'Thank you, abbot,' Ronan said. 'God willing, perhaps we can sit down and talk together one day soon, you and I.'

'I look forward to that with keenest anticipation,' the senior replied, and departed with a blessing, leaving them to their work.

Brother Thaddeus, none too pleased with the abbot's intervention, nevertheless undertook his duties with good, if somewhat officious grace. 'The crypt is this way,' he said. 'Will you require help with the bodies? If so, I can summon some of our brothers.'

'Thank you, brother, but no,' Ronan declined. 'I fear we have disturbed the tranquillity of your good community enough for one night. The labour is ours; we will shoulder the burden and complete what we have begun.'

'As you wish,' said the monk, and started towards one of the buildings across the yard. 'This way to the catacombs.'

Fionn tugged on the rein rope, and the camel collapsed with a wheezing blat; Emlyn helped Murdo to his feet, and supported him as he limped across the yard, passing back along the rows of sleeping refugees and the line of now-darkened cells towards the chapel. As they approached the last cell, Murdo's eye was drawn by a movement in the darkness. He turned his head and was startled by the sudden appearance of a swarthy, dark-haired man in the doorway.

The man was tall and of regal appearance, and had neither the dress nor the manner of a monk. He glanced at those passing by his doorway and, finding nothing to interest him, stepped back into the shadowed cell once more. Murdo turned his attention to the chore at hand.