Then the slaughter commenced.
Unable to tell Armenian from Muhammedan, Greek from Jew or Byzantine, and unwilling to barter peace – after their long ordeal across the Syrian and Judean deserts, after their suffering at Dorylaeum and Antioch, after their grim endurance of countless privations, disease, and death since leaving their homes-the triumphant pilgrims would not be satisfied with anything less than blood.
Crusaders fresh to the fight poured into the city by way of the gates on the north and west. They ran through the streets, breaking into the houses and putting the inhabitants to the sword, before sacking the dwellings and carrying off any treasure they found. The terrified people fled before the onslaught, abandoning their homes for the safety of the southern half of the city where the attackers had not yet penetrated. There, they hoped to escape through one of the southern gates below Mount Zion.
King Magnus and his Norse battle host arrived at Jerusalem just as the pillage reached its climax in the northern part of the city, and was beginning to spread to the southern quarter.
Murdo squatted on the hillside in the shade of an olive tree, sweating from the long climb up through the hills. He gazed out upon the Holy City perched on a high rock escarpment, its massive walls rising sheer from the Hinnom Valley, soaring above the crusader camps spread like rumpled skins along the valley floor. From where he knelt, Murdo could see the vast stone curtain stretching away to the north, following the upward sweep to the heights of Mount Moriah to the east, and cresting Mount Ophel and Mount Zion to the south above the Vale of Kidron. Smoke, dirty and dark, filled the air from ground to sky, casting all below in a filthy brown, foul-smelling haze.
The Jaffa Gate gaped open, allowing a steady stream of crusaders into and out of the city. Shouts and cries, and the clashing sounds of battle, could be heard from various quarters, mingling with an eerie ululating wail that rose and fell with the wind, coursing hot and dry in fitful gusts through the valley. The sun shone as a dull blood-brown ember burning through the thick pall of smoke, bathing the city in a strange and lurid light. Murdo put his hand to his purse and shook out the small gattage coin onto his palm. Looking at the bit of silver glinting in the fevered light and, suddenly feeling foolish for having carried it so long, he tossed it away. He would not need it now.
All around him, Norse warriors chafed the dust-dry earth with the butts of their spears, and boasted to one another how much plunder they would get, and how many foemen they would kill. King Magnus, though eager as the next man for his share of the city's spoils, at least paused long enough to acquaint himself with the lay of the land. The monks, familiar with the Holy Land through long study, had prepared a simple drawing of the city for the king; Fionn held the crude map while Ronan pointed out the foremost features of the city and surrounding countryside.
Murdo, ignoring the vacuous banter around him, strained to hear what the elder cleric was saying. 'Before us is the main entrance-the Jaffa Gate,' Ronan explained, indicating the great timber doors on the western side. The priest's finger moved to the clustered domes directly over the entrance. 'There is David's Tower-which is what they call the citadel.' The finger moved to another cluster of domes rising high above the rest of the city. 'That is the temple precinct on Mount Moriah. That is where the Muhammedans have built their mosq.'
Brother Ronan went on to indicate other landmarks for King Magnus and his battlechiefs. Murdo crowded closer to hear. Little remained of the original temple, the priest told them; the ancient walls had been razed by the Romans, rebuilt by the Byzantines, and taken over by the Muhammedans. Murdo could see the golden dome gleaming through the smoke haze, and the mosq's towers, or minarets, still stately and grand above the city.
'The Mount of Olives is on the southern side of the city,' Ronan continued. 'We cannot see it from where we are standing.'
'I think we can see Golgotha from here,' Fionn suggested, looking up from the map. 'It might be that small hill there.' He squinted at one of the lumpy mounds in the distance. 'Or, maybe the one next to it.'
'The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is inside the walls,' Emlyn added helpfully. 'Many believe Our Lord was never buried there anyway, but was laid to rest in the Garden Tomb, which is outside the walls.' Pointing east along the valley, he said, 'Is that the Church of Saint Mary I see? If it is, the tomb must be -
'But you are mistaken, brother,' Fionn interrupted. 'That is certainly the Church of Saint Stephen which you see on the hillside. The Church of Saint Mary is on Mount Zion.' He pointed to the hump of rock rising to the south of the city.
'You are right, of course,' agreed Emlyn placidly. 'Yet, I believe the Chapel of the Garden Tomb lies between us and the church. This was the point I wished to make.'
'And I am grateful for it,' said King Magnus, speaking up quickly. 'But the day is speeding from us.' Turning to Ronan, he said, 'Unless you have anything else to tell us, we will join the battle.'
'I have told all I know,' Ronan said, nodding thoughtfully. 'Yes, I believe that is all.'
King Magnus thanked his wise counsellor, and declared he would make for the temple precinct. If any fighting continued, it would be there, he reckoned, where resistance was bound to be most fierce. The king turned, raised his sword, and cried, 'For Christ and Glory!' He then led his men into battle.
They descended the hill and quickly crossed the narrow valley. Upon reaching the gate, they did not hesitate, but rushed directly into the smoke-filled streets to join their fellow crusaders in sacking the city. Murdo and the monks followed close behind, until coming to the entrance. There, amidst the commotion of warriors hastening both into and out of the city, the monks halted. 'We will remain outside the walls until the city is delivered. We can be of more use caring for the wounded,' Ronan said. 'Stay with us, Murdo. It seems the fighting is nearly over. Lord Magnus will not require your spear today; I will tell him you remained behind to help us.'
'My father and brothers are here,' Murdo told him. 'I am going to find them.'
'Wait but a little,' Emlyn pleaded. 'We will help you find them when Jerusalem is won.'
'No,' Murdo turned away brusquely, 'I have waited long enough. I am going to find them now.'
The monks did not try to dissuade him further, but gave Murdo a blessing instead. Raising his hands, Ronan said, 'Great of Heaven, send an angel to go before our brother, an angel to go behind, an angel above, an angel below, and an angel on either side to guard and protect him through all things, and bring him safely to your peace.' Ronan made the sign of the cross over Murdo and said, 'Come to us when your search is completed. We will uphold you in our prayers until we see you again.'
Murdo nodded once in acknowledgement of the monk's request, then joined the soldiers thronging through the gate. More tunnel than doorway, the entrance was dark and full of smoke; Murdo took a deep breath and, clutching his spear tightly, entered the city. The last thing he heard was Emlyn's voice telling him to be careful.
He emerged beneath the gate tower. Bodies of both crusaders and infidel lay smashed on the stone pavement where they had fallen from the breastwork high above. The pooled blood of these unfortunates was now scattered in a hundred thousand dark footprints radiating into the Holy City by way of its tight, impossibly tangled pathways.
Distracted by the corpses heaped around the gate, Murdo started down the street before him… only to realize that he no longer recognized anyone around him. Turning around, he pushed back through the crowd, quickly retracing his steps; yet, by the time he reached the gate once more, the Norsemen were nowhere to be seen. Still, he heard the clatter of arms and the echo of voices down one of the streets to his left. Putting his head down, he ran as fast as he could, following the sound.