The iron lance

FORTY-SEVEN

Bohemond wasted not a moment summoning the imperial envoy to deliver his prize. Like Godfrey, he understood his survival depended on the good will of the emperor. Unlike Godfrey, he was not afraid to make the sacrifice which would secure Alexius' support. In his brief and prickly appearance before the council in Jerusalem, Dalassenus had left little doubt that the emperor's future co-operation depended on the return of the lance.

The wily count had decided that if the lance could secure the emperor's support, it was a price he would gladly pay. In order to derive the maximum benefit from the gift, Bohemond must be seen to be the agent of its return. Even as he and Magnus walked from the council chamber, he had begun scheming as to how to get the relic away from Godfrey.

The instant Bohemond learned that Godfrey's men had departed Jerusalem, he put his spies to work. Upon discovering that Godfrey intended sending the sacred lance to the pope for safe-keeping, he had set off in pursuit with his best knights. True, he had not reckoned on fighting the Turks all night, neither had he foreseen Murdo's intervention. And if the gatemen had not been telling everyone about the youth who had stolen the Holy Lance, he would have despaired of ever finding it again. Life in the eastern empire was full of surprises, however, and he was learning to seize each opportunity as it arose.

Grasping the iron lance in his hand, he marvelled at his own good fortune. 'Take word to the Grand Drungarius,' he said, turning to Bayard. 'Tell the envoy that Count Bohemond comes bearing the Holy Lance of Christ, and that we would be pleased to wait upon him for the relic's delivery at his earliest convenience.'

Bayard and two of Bohemond's nobles were despatched to the imperial ship with the count's message.

Murdo knelt beside the stricken priest, and shook him gently. After a moment, the priest woke with a moan and sat up. He saw Murdo and clutched at his sleeve. 'You gave the lance to Bohemond!' he gasped. 'We must try to get it back-it is not too late. We must -'

He struggled to rise. 'Shh!' Murdo warned, pushing him back down. 'Be still.'

'The lance!' Emlyn hissed. 'He means to give it away!'

'All will be well,' whispered Murdo, bending near. Gripping the monk by the arm, he helped him slowly to his feet. 'Listen to me, there is not much time. Magnus is here-which means Ronan and Fionn cannot be far away. The less they know about this, the better, I think.'

Emlyn searched the young man's face for a reason, found none, and shook his head sadly. 'I do not understand. Last night you said you would follow the True Path and rescue the lance, yet today you give it away. What has changed you, Murdo?'

'Nothing has changed,' Murdo told him. 'We have to see this through.'

At that moment, Bohemond, standing at the rail with King Magnus beside him, lofted the Holy Lance in the air, and called out in a loud voice so everyone on the wharf could hear, 'Make way! Make way, my friends, for the emperor's envoy. He comes to receive this most holy relic into his care.' The sailors and crusaders near by looked up to see the golden cord and silken wrapping flash in the sun; they saw the emperor's emissary moving towards them, and backed away, uncertain as to what was about to happen.

Bohemond put his hand out in a conciliatory gesture. 'Join me, drungarius,' he called. 'Let us stand together and pledge troth before all gathered here.'

While the Grand Drungarius made his way through the throng to the dragon-prowed ship, Bohemond delivered a high-sounding speech to his onlookers, speaking eloquently about the suffering of the crusaders and their noble achievement in securing the Holy City for all time. He spoke of God's great design for his people, and the supremacy of the emperor as the Almighty's sole representative on Earth, and how it was good to reflect on the suffering of all those who had died in the struggle, and how the Good Lord himself had blessed their great enterprise by revealing the Holy Lance as a sign of his favour.

From his place beside Murdo, Emlyn gazed longingly at the lance in the count's hands. 'He is giving it away!' The monk started forth.

'Peace, brother,' Murdo muttered, taking his arm and holding him to his place. 'Be still.'

The monk, growing desperate, squirmed in Murdo's grasp. 'We cannot stand by and let him give it away!'

'That is exactly what we will do.' Murdo jerked hard on the monk's arm. 'Now stand still and be quiet.'

Dalassenus, with four Varangian guards on either side, mounted the plank to the ship and came to stand before Bohemond. The prince embraced the emperor's envoy like a long-lost kinsman. Taking the Holy Lance across his palms, he extended it towards Dalassenus, saying, 'In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, I charge you to place this most sacred relic under the keen protection and loving care of the Supreme Ruler of all Christendom, Emperor Alexius. Let him know by this, that the lords of the West honour and revere him, and that we bend the knee to his authority, joining with him in the upbuilding of the Christ's great kingdom.'

With that he delivered the Iron Lance into Dalassenus' hands. The Greek commander inclined his head regally and accepted the sacred relic with the grave respect due the occasion. 'On behalf of the Emperor Alexius, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vice-Regent, and Life of the Church, I welcome the charge laid upon me, and swear before these gathered witnesses that this holy relic, sacred to Our Saviour's memory, shall be given all the care, veneration, and protection deserving of its eminence.'

Those looking on-aboard the ship, and below on the quay -greeted this bestowal with a muted, if not puzzled, response. While some called out to know what was going on, others gave out halfhearted cheers of acclaim; most simply went about their business once more.

The Grand Drungarius then thanked the count for returning the lance and upholding the vows sworn before the emperor's throne. 'Rest assured, Emperor Alexius will wish to thank you himself. Perhaps, when your duties permit, you will return to Constantinople and allow the emperor to reward you himself.'

Bohemond, looking suitably deserving, smiled benevolently at the prospect of meeting the emperor once more, and beckoned his nobles to share in his glory. King Magnus stepped beside him, and the two lords embraced; other crusaders of the prince's entourage were invited to bask in the reflected glory of their lord's triumph.

Lastly, the magnanimous count turned to Murdo and motioned him to join them, but he refused.

He declined politely, saying, 'I thank you, lord, but I have my reward. I am content.'

The noblemen exchanged vows of eternal brotherhood, and eagerly accepted Dalassenus' invitation to join him on the imperial ship for wine and a service of thanksgiving. Murdo and a much-subdued Emlyn retreated to the prow to watch as Bohemond and Magnus, flushed with pride at their salutary accomplishment were conducted to the imperial ship by an honour guard of Immortals, led by the emperor's emissary. They were escorted onto the emperor's ship, where they were served with wine and a lavish selection of local delicacies.

'It is not right that they should glory so,' Emlyn grumbled sourly. 'It is an offence against heaven.'

'Heaven can take care of itself,' Murdo answered. 'We still need the good will of kings.' Scanning the wharfside activity, he found what he was searching for. 'Look, there is Jon Wing-Ronan is with him.'

Murdo called to them, and saw that the sea lord and priest were leading a small procession which snaked its way along the edge of the crowd on the pier, with Fionn and the sailors of the Skidbladnir bringing up the rear. Many of the seamen seemed to be labouring – dragging or carrying something as they came.

Ronan and Jon reached the edge of the quay and started up the plank. 'Hail, Murdo! Emlyn! God be good to you,' called the elder monk. 'We hoped we might find you before you sailed.'

'Behold!' said Jon Wing, stretching his hand to those coming on behind. 'Today you see the making of a king!'

Murdo looked where the Norseman was pointing, and saw the first of the sailors as they came swaying up the plank carrying open baskets of gold and silver objects. In all, six baskets of plunder were carried aboard to be carefully stowed within the tent on the platform behind the mast. One of the sailors helping secure the treasure emerged from the tent, and called out, 'Jon, there are some dead people here! What should we do with them?'

'Leave them in peace,' replied Jon. Turning to Murdo he said, 'Ronan told me about your father, and I was sorry to hear it. I knew you would want him to accompany you to Orkneyjar. Do not worry. Unless he begins to stink, I will not put him off the ship.'

Murdo thanked the sea lord for his thoughtfulness, and asked, 'How did you come to get so much treasure?'

'Bohemond chased off the Turks who ambushed Godfrey's troops,' answered Jon Wing. 'We arrived with Magnus in time to aid in the rout of the Turks. The amir's treasure was taken for spoils.'

'They had the treasure with them,' put in Fionn, joining the group as the last of the baskets was brought aboard and placed in the tent. 'King Magnus' men helped liberate the treasure and were granted a sizeable portion.'

'Would that you had joined us just a few moments" ago.' Emlyn said, speaking up at last. 'You might have saved the Holy Lance as well.'

This occasioned a much-interrupted explanation of all that had happened to them since leaving Jerusalem-their narrow escape from the Seljuqs, the battle before the city walls, Murdo's recovery of the sacred lance, and his extraordinary bargain with King Magnus for the return of the relic. The others agreed with him that the bargain was extraordinary indeed.

'The king is known to be a fair and generous lord,' Jon Wing declared. 'I suppose he was at pains to prove it-with Bohemond and his noblemen looking on.' To Murdo he said, 'You had him in a very tight place, if only you knew it.'

'If not for Bohemond's intervention,' Murdo replied, 'I have no doubt it would have ended otherwise. Baldwin's men were for slitting my throat. I still do not know why the count acted as he did.'

'No doubt it was to do with the council.' He told Murdo how the emperor's envoy had appeared before the Latin lords and demanded the Holy Lance as a sign of the crusaders' recognition of Alexius' supremacy. 'When Bohemond learned that the lance had been sent from the city, he set off with a force of men to help protect it.'

'If you had but lingered half a day longer in Jerusalem,' added Jon Wing, 'you would have learned all this. What is more, you could have travelled to Jaffa with us.'

'Alas,' sighed Emlyn, 'it was this close.' He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. 'We had it in our grasp…' He glanced reproachfully at Murdo, and shook his head.

The three priests fell silent, reflecting on how near they had come to realizing their divinely-ordained vision. Murdo steeled himself against their benign disapproval, and held his tongue.

'Maybe it is not so bad,' said Jon, trying to console them. 'Such a secret is difficult to keep. It would have been nothing but trouble for you. It is better this way, I think.'

Jon Wing moved off, and the monks, disheartened, went to the stern to pray and seek the good Lord's direction following their failure to rescue the valuable relic. Murdo longed to go and comfort them, but held himself apart. In a little while, one of the king's house carles returned and summoned Jon. Murdo watched while the two spoke together, whereupon Jon called Gorm, and the two put their heads together in close consultation.

'The emperor's envoy is anxious to return to Constantinople,' Jon informed Murdo when he saw him standing alone at the rail. 'It seems our generous Count Bohemond has pledged the king's fleet to sail with him to help guard the treasured relic. Magnus has sent word that we are all to be ready to sail at first light.'

'And then what?' asked Murdo. 'What happens when we get to Constantinople?'

'I do not know what the others will do,' replied the sea lord, 'but as for me and my ship, we are going home.'

At these words, relief swept through Murdo with such a force that his knees buckled and his throat grew tight. He had intended finding a ship, but had not dared hope he might sail with his friends. This, together with the stringent demands of the last days, combined to make him light-headed; he swayed on his feet, and if Jon had not put out a hand to steady him, Murdo might have fallen over backwards.

'Here, Murdo,' said the great Norseman, patting him on the back, 'a drink will restore you. Gorm! Bring us a jar!' When the bowl arrived, Jon put it in Murdo's hands, saying, 'It is a shame we have no ol, but wine is not so bad.'

The wine did revive him, he drank deep and passed the bowl to Jon, who hailed his friend, saying, 'You are a good man, Murdo. You can sail with me any time.'

'When I get home, I will sail no more,' Murdo vowed, taking another good swig of wine, 'but if I did, I would not think to go to sea with anyone but you.'

'It is a long way to Orkneyjar,' Jon pointed out. 'You might change your mind.'

The rest of the day was spent readying the ships and amassing the necessary supplies and provisions for the journey. As the kegs, casks, and baskets came aboard, Murdo helped store everything and make sure it was tied down securely. Although Jon Wing bade him to rest and let the sailors do the chores, he declined; the work kept his mind off the long journey ahead. Still, every time he thought of it, his heart gave a leap inside his chest and he felt a quiver of excitement in his stomach.

As the sky sank by ever deeper degrees from flame red to the purples of night, Murdo found himself staring westward at the dying light, and imagining that it was the cold northern sea he was staring at, not the warm Mediterranean; and that it was the low Dark Isles lifting their sleek heads from the still waters, not clouds drifting on the far horizon. The yearning to be home grew in him like an ache and consumed him. 'Ragna…' He whispered her name to the sea and to the gentle twilight. 'Ragna, I am coming home.'

That night Murdo curled up in his customary place at the prow, and fell asleep with his beloved's name on his lips. Dawn found him awake and waiting for the call to shove away from the pier. The call finally came, and Murdo took up an oar and settled himself on the bench as the emperor's ship slid slowly out into the harbour, to be followed by the smaller, faster, Norse boats. One by one, they pushed away from the wharf and followed the envoy's vessel into open water. Once clear of the harbour, Jon Wing gave the call to up sails, and the return journey commenced.

The tawny sail rose and stretched-as if stirring itself from a long sleep. The heavy cloth flapped slowly and shook out its creases, then caught the wind, filled, billowed, and the ship began to glide away.

As Jaffa dwindled slowly behind them in a haze of gleaming, sun-bright white, Murdo lifted his eyes to the arid hills east of the city and looked his last on the Holy Land. He felt a fleeting pang of sadness for leaving his father and brothers behind. He breathed a silent farewell to them, and then turned his face once more to the west, and to the long voyage home.