Murdo was still staring up at the face when two crusaders ran out from the house and began scooping up the coins by the fistful. They were quickly joined by two more, who seized the larger chest, raised it over their heads and threw it down-once, twice, and again, before the chest split, scattering treasure into the street. Murdo caught a flash of silver and gold as cups and bowls, plates, bracelets and chains, rolled and spun in every direction. The crusaders shrieked at their good fortune, and dived to retrieve the plunder, snatching up the valuables and stuffing them into their siarcs.
When they had grabbed it all, one of the pilgrims peered around guiltily, saw Murdo watching, and turned on him. 'You!' he yelled. 'I told you to get away from here!' The man made a clumsy lurch towards him, but Murdo was already running away.
He knew the Norsemen were making for the temple precinct, and decided that was where he would find them-and even if not, he stood a good chance of finding his father and brothers-so he hurried on, following the street where it led, hoping to reach a place where he could get a glimpse of the Temple Mount to know which direction he must go.
From the side streets he glimpsed grim evidence of the conquest: to the right, four crusaders standing to their knees in white-robed bodies were stabbing into the pile with their spears; to the left, two warriors holding an old man between them while a third executed him-the man was shouting in Latin as the spear sank into his stomach. Murdo averted his eyes quickly, and from then on looked only at the street ahead. The pathway turned and turned again, and grew narrower until it ended in an enclosed courtyard. There, Murdo halted.
Fresh corpses covered the entire surface of the square three and four deep, rising to two separate mounds stacked ten or fifteen high. Murdo stared at the bizarre welter of bodies-many of them battered and mutilated beyond recognition-unable to comprehend how such slaughter could have been accomplished. He decided that either they had taken refuge in the courtyard, or had been driven there by the crusaders who then blocked the narrow entrance and began butchering them. In their terror, the victims must have climbed the ever-increasing heaps, standing on the corpses of their kinsmen in a futile effort to escape, while the crusaders struck them down, killing and killing as the mound grew ever higher.
He felt something damp seeping through his boots, and looked down to see that he was standing in a spreading pool of blood which was creeping slowly out into the street. Sickened, he turned and fled back the way he had come, shaking the vile stuff from his boots as he ran.
Upon reaching the larger street once more, he tried another way. This time, he struck a narrow pathway between large houses. Murdo could hear shouts ahead, and followed the voices to discover that the pathway led into a covered market. Holding tightly to his spear, he jumped over the bodies slumped at the entrance and entered the cool darkness of the suq. From somewhere amidst the maze of stalls and pathways, he could hear the triumphant shouts of the victors as they pillaged. Everywhere, goods and wares of all kinds were spilled and spoiled; in many places, what could not be carried off had been set on fire.
He looked down one dim pathway and saw a light at the end. The passageway was filled with what he took to be a multitude of stones strewn over the ground. Closer examination, however, revealed these to be loaves of bread, thrown down and trodden under foot. He started towards the light, but had not walked a dozen paces when, upon glancing into one of the many empty and ruined stalls, he saw a small huddle of bodies – those of a merchant family, perhaps, who had taken shelter in the suq.
The man had been gutted like a pig from navel to chin, his entrails pulled out and wrapped around his neck to strangle him. Two with long black hair-women, the man's wife and daughter, he supposed-had been beaten to death; their faces were a squashed mass of splintered bone and blood, no longer recognizably human. A small boy and a dog had been decapitated and their heads exchanged on the bodies.
All this was glimpsed in a fleeting instant, but Murdo felt the gorge rise in his throat. Bitter bile gushed up into his mouth and he turned away, retching. He lurched a few steps, then leaned on his spear and vomited on the ground.
Steeling himself, he staggered on, looking neither left nor right until he emerged into the filthy light at the far end of the passage. Murdo paused to catch his breath and look around. Here, in this quarter, the houses were larger, and more substantial, the people obviously wealthier. Here also, it seemed the conquest was still in progress. A ragged scream echoed from inside one of the houses; further up the street, flames leapt from the upper windows of several others. The stone-paved street was strewn with broken objects-items of furniture, casks, chests, kitchen utensils, clothing-which had been stripped from the houses and thrown into the streets. Rising above the rooftops, Murdo saw the topmost section of a high-soaring wall some distance away; he scanned the length of stone curtain and caught the dull glint of a golden dome rising above the rim of the wall.
Picking his way around the debris, he moved on cautiously, keeping his eye on the upper wall. Upon passing a large stone house with two marble columns he heard a terrified shriek and froze in his steps. An instant later, a woman in a yellow robe broke into the street directly ahead of him, carrying a pale bundle beneath each arm. Right behind raced three pilgrims with white crosses on their mantles and red-streaked swords in their hands. One of them seized the woman by the hair and yanked her backwards off her feet. The bundles fell to the street, and Murdo realized they were babies. The infants lay crying, holding up their tiny hands, as the soldiers fell upon them and began chopping with their blades.
The woman screamed and lunged at her attackers, begging for mercy. Heedless, the crusaders turned their blades on her. The swords slashed and slashed again, the sharp steel biting deep into the smooth, rounded flesh of her white arms, hewing through muscle and bone, opening wicked red gashes; one of the swords found her neck, releasing a torrent of blood. In a moment, the screaming stopped and all three lay silent. The soldiers glanced around at Murdo, wild glee dancing on their smoke-smeared faces.
One of them shouted at him in a tongue Murdo did not understand. He replied in Latin, saying, 'I mean no harm. I am searching for my father.'
The pilgrims glanced at one another, and two of them stepped towards him. The first crusader spoke again, and pointed at him -thrusting his finger again and again insistently. He seemed to be demanding something, but Murdo could not tell what it might be. The two nearest took another step towards him, holding their dripping swords before them.
Murdo repeated his answer in Latin, stepping slowly backwards. The two muttered something to one another. Murdo took another backward step. His foot struck something and he fell. With a shout the three soldiers rushed upon him.
The two nearest reached him first. Murdo, flat on his back, slashed the air with his spear. The blade struck steel and one of the attackers leapt back with a yelp as his sword spun from his hand. Murdo jabbed the spear into the face of the other pilgrim, and the man darted aside, allowing Murdo to roll onto his knees.
The leader of the three gave a loud shout and charged with lofted sword – perhaps expecting the youth to turn tail and run. Murdo remained on his knees, however, and brought the weapon up sharply as the man closed on him. Murdo did not feel the blade enter the man's belly, and probably his adversary did not feel it either-at first. For he took another step, and struggled for another, before glancing down to see the long haft of the spear protruding from his gut.