‘Sister, for God’s sake I’ll be brief.’ Fulcher’s fingers fluttered against her wrist. ‘A horseman appeared, cowled and visored. He told us a hideous story of how Anstritha was truly a witch who deserved to die. How she dug her fingers deep into the sockets of dead men’s eyes and bit off the long yellow nails from withered hands as she harvested the bodies of hanged men. How she made the black sacrifice in the dead of night and sacrificed bowls of blood to the demons of the air. Nonsense,’ Fulcher whispered, ‘but we believed him. He insisted we should cleanse such filth from our village. He left a wineskin and a piece of silver for each of us. We were bought,’ he coughed, ‘body and soul. We were told to wait for a sign, and when it came to act. On the night she died, we assembled hooded and visored in the tap room of the Vine of God. The taverner was with us. You, Lord Hugh and Godefroi were absent. Robert the Reeve, I am sure it was he, led us to Anstritha’s house. Sister, it was a blasphemy! Anstritha was in her small buttery, brewing ale. We burst in and seized her, but even then I knew something was very wrong. Anstritha fled to the church. I was already regretting my part. I returned to her house, not to plunder but to search for evidence. I found nothing that would be out of place in a nun’s cell, but more importantly…’ he struggled to pull himself up, ‘the horseman was there. Again his head and face were covered. He had already searched the house. I carried my hammer but he was armed with sword and dagger. He told me to be about my business. I realised we’d been used. I fled; I was frightened. By the time I rejoined the rest, Anstritha was captured. She was strapped and bound like some outlaw caught red-handed. I tried to speak to her, to console her. She asked if I could hear her confession. I told her I was no priest, but she insisted. Sister, my guilt deepened. Anstritha had a pure heart. Others came to taunt her. She whispered the Contrition and said I was to take her left sandal and give what I found to someone I trusted, “a new Veronica”-’
‘I am sorry?’ Eleanor interrupted.
‘Sister, I tell you what I know. Go amongst my belongings.’ He banged his head against the baskets and panniers piled behind him. ‘Take the small one, now.’ He pushed himself forward, allowing Eleanor to free the saddlebags, two pouches held together by a strap. ‘Keep them,’ he gasped, ‘and all that is in them. God knows there is no one else. Now, sister, I must confess…’
‘Who was this horseman, this stranger?’
‘I don’t know. Anstritha did claim she had travelled to Outremer. She told me that she had secrets of her own. Just before I left, she admitted how her present troubles were the fault of a half-brother who’d plagued her life.’ Fulcher coughed on his own blood. ‘Sister, it was dark, she was terrified, as was I. She would say no more. The fire roared and they hanged her above it. Anstritha’s blood is now on my hands and those of others. We have to pay, I know that.’
Eleanor, more to humour him than anything else, kissed him on the brow, muttered the Jesu Miserere, took the bag and left Fulcher to Brother Norbert’s ministrations. She’d hardly returned to where Imogene lay sleeping beneath the cart when shouts and cries sent her running to a gap. Hugh and his companions came thundering back. A cart was pulled aside and the riders galloped through, accompanied by a high-ranking Greek officer in court dress, a long, ornate gown that hung midway down his boots, bright and richly embroidered with gold thread. Behind him was a young servant boy dressed in green. Immediately they were surrounded by the vicomte and his commanders and a heated discussion ensued. Eleanor hurried to join the fast-gathering crowd. Jehan, leader of the Beggars’ Company, was summoned and the debate continued. From the people around her Eleanor learned that the Greeks had attacked because a nobleman’s villa had been plundered: the owner’s wife, together with his two daughters, had been brutally raped, then hanged from the beams of their own house. The servant boy had escaped but would recognise the attackers, and the finger of suspicion was already pointed at Jehan’s company. The Greeks had issued an ultimatum: the perpetrators must be identified and summarily punished, otherwise a fresh attack would be launched. Jehan tried to defend his company, but the vicomte ordered him to co-operate or be expelled.
The entire Beggars’ Company was summoned and lined up along the carts. Shouts of defiance — ‘Toulouse, Toulouse!’ — were swiftly quieted by the vicomte’s commanders, drawing their swords, whilst Hugh, now their envoy, stood up in his stirrups and proclaimed that rape and murder had nothing to do with their quest. ‘Moreover,’ he continued, ‘if justice is done, the Greeks will offer provisions and escort us safely to the great city.’ Shouts of abuse echoed, followed by more cries of ‘Toulouse, Toulouse!’ Nevertheless, the mood shifted as more people joined the throng. The servant boy dismounted and, accompanied by Hugh and Beltran, walked along the line of Beggars. Four men were identified. They shrieked their innocence as Hugh ordered them to be dragged out. The servant boy, grasping the crucifix Alberic thrust into his hand, shouted his oath that he’d spoken the truth. The men’s fate was sealed. Another quarrel took place between the vicomte and the Greek. The vicomte pointed to Hugh. The official nodded in agreement, bowed and, turning his horse, galloped off, followed by the servant.
The four prisoners were hustled out from behind the line of carts and forced to kneel on the ground, still littered with corpses and broken weapons. Alberic moved along, crouching before each one, hand lifted in absolution. He had just reached the third when Greek horsemen emerged, riding slowly up to watch what was happening. Alberic finished. Hugh, carrying a basket, stepped forward. He drew his sword and, like a harvester collecting grain, neatly severed each of the condemned men’s heads, a slicing cut that sent the head rolling like a ball. Blood spurted up as the corpses toppled over. Eleanor looked away. Once Hugh was finished, he collected the heads, put them in the basket and, walking towards the line of horsemen, placed it on the ground before them. He returned, cleaned his sword on the clothing of one of the corpses, resheathed it and strolled back to the watching wall of Franks.
Bread, meat, wine and ripe fruit began to reach the camp just before nightfall. Carts piled high with produce were escorted into the camp by Turcopole mercenaries in flowing sky-blue robes, white turbans on their heads, black horn bows thrust into side pouches on their saddles. The arrivals were greeted with dark looks but Hugh, unperturbed by the brutal executions, went out to talk to the Turkish officer, who smilingly agreed to his request to stage a display of mounted archery out on the open meadowland. Hugh, holding Eleanor’s hand, watched the rider circle round a tree stump, horse and officer acting as one. The nimble mount turned and twisted even as the Turcopole, low in the saddle, loosed shaft after shaft into the stump.
‘This is what we will face, Eleanor,’ Hugh murmured, raising a hand in thanks to the officer. ‘These are the enemy, not Greek women and girls. Do you know they were mere children, raped, tortured and hanged before their mother, who was forced to witness it. If I had my way, I would enforce strict discipline on this rabble. Anyone who raises a hand against an innocent should be executed; it is the only way. The Greeks do not wish to fight us. They see us as defence against the Turks. Yet there is more bad news.’ He pulled a face. ‘Our leaders are arguing in Constantinople; they cannot decide on who will lead the army.’
‘Hugh, look at me.’
He did so.
‘Tell me,’ Eleanor stepped closer, ‘why are you here? To impose order, to create a brotherhood, or something else?’
He slowly wiped the sweat from his dirty face.