‘The information we bring?’ Eleanor asked, trying to keep her throat wet to avoid any show of fear. ‘How did we gain that?’
‘Quite simply,’ Theodore shrugged, ‘we are in Antioch. Armenians and Turks mill about the streets, the blood lust is over, we mingled with this person or that. Let’s look at it from Khebogha’s point of view: why should we risk coming to him as traitors? No, no, our story will be believed. Eleanor, if you do not want to come, do not. The same for you, Simeon. However, it would be more logical, more convincing if all three of us were to explain how, after the Twin Sisters fell, we went into hiding, managed to survive, mingled with the Army of God, were discovered and fled. Count Bohemond is correct. Whatever happens, Khebogha must not move.’
The questioning continued. Eleanor tried to hide her own anxiety under Bohemond’s powerful scrutiny. She fully understood the logic of his plan. She’d heard the rumours of how people were deserting, fleeing, so why shouldn’t they? Their explanation was convincing enough. It was well known that Turks were hiding out in the woods, valleys, parks and orchards of the city, well armed and dangerous.
‘You will leave by a postern gate near St George,’ Bohemond explained. ‘You will be pursued and shot at but you will successfully escape. Once you are in Turkish hands, you’ll be safe. If they believe your story, so will Khebogha. Well?’
Eleanor glanced at Simeon, who sat, eyes closed, rocking himself backwards and forwards, silently mouthing a prayer.
‘I will go,’ Eleanor whispered, ‘but the Lord knows it’s dangerous. What if, and I say this, what if Firuz told someone else? What if some Turk knows we helped him betray the Twin Sisters and that Turk is now with Khebogha?’
‘No!’ Theodore used his fingers to emphasise his points. ‘The Twin Sisters fell during the dark. Only Count Bohemond, Hugh and Godefroi knew of our involvement; everyone else believes it was Firuz alone. On the night the towers fell, Simeon and Imogene were kept close. You, as I told you to, stayed in the shadows; the men who passed you that night were battle-crazed. I disappeared immediately with Hugh and Godefroi…’
‘Were you preparing for this?’ Eleanor half laughed.
‘No,’ Theodore replied. ‘Preparing for failure, the prospect that the attack on Antioch might be repulsed. We would have had to concoct some story, very similar to this, that Firuz was the traitor whilst we were true adherents of Yaghi Siyan.’
‘I will come to Imogene in a moment,’ Hugh interrupted. ‘But apart from her, and possibly Beltran, only the people in this chamber know the real truth about the betrayal of the Twin Sisters. Firuz and his men are dead and we shall now use that to our advantage.’
Eleanor recalled the corpse sprawled across the threshold of the tower, blood gushing out in the dim light. She wondered if that had been Firuz, an accident? Or had he and others been deliberately killed by these ruthless men? Eleanor felt cold, detached.
‘What if,’ Simeon retorted, ‘a spy in Antioch tells them the truth?’
‘Which is?’ Bohemond asked.
‘That when the city fell, we rejoined the Army of God, who accepted us for what we were, heroes!’
Again that calculating look from Bohemond. Hugh and Godefroi just sat, shoulders hunched. Hugh chewed the corner of his lip as if he had already reflected on what Simeon had said and knew the answer.
‘Who knows that you’ve been accepted?’ Godefroi replied. ‘You’ve sheltered in this house for the last three weeks. How many people know? Nobody except a few trusted members of the Poor Brethren of the Temple.’
Eleanor now realised why she and Simeon had been kept so close. Few people understood what had truly happened at the Twin Sisters; that had been a closely guarded secret.
‘There may be a traitor,’ Hugh spoke up, ‘amongst our brethren, that’s what Count Raymond thinks. However, remember that only the people in this room, together with Imogene, and possibly Beltran, know your full role in Firuz’s treachery. I swear to this, since Antioch fell, both Beltran and Imogene have been kept under the closest scrutiny.’ He smiled. ‘I think they know that. Moreover, you will flee Antioch late on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh of June; we leave by Bridge Gate on the morning of the twenty-eighth. No spy will have enough time to send a message to Khebogha, whilst you will carry those heads as proof of the story you will tell. Why shouldn’t Khebogha believe you?’
‘We will go,’ Eleanor whispered. ‘It is dangerous, but what we face here is equally perilous. We can at least try.’ She pointed at Bohemond. ‘But, God willing and we reach Jerusalem, you must swear that whatever I want, whatever I ask for will be given. If not from you, my lord Bohemond,’ she turned to her brother and Godefroi, ‘then from you and Count Raymond.’ All three solemnly agreed. Theodore looked surprised. Simeon murmured something about his freedom, lamenting the danger, then the meeting ended.
Two days later Theodore was ushered up on to a lonely stretch of the battlements near St George Gate. Bohemond’s men, who should have been on patrol, were secretly and abruptly withdrawn. An arrow was shot into one of the wooden pillars of the bridge. A Turk ran into the pool of light thrown by a cresset torch. The arrow was snapped off and the man disappeared into the darkness. Late the following morning, Eleanor, Theodore and Simeon slipped through the stinking streets towards a large park that bordered on the Gate of the Goat, a needle-thin postern door about sixty yards from St George Gate. Eleanor, sweat-soaked with apprehension, carried a set of panniers stuffed with her paltry possessions. She felt very alert, aware of everything and everybody: a dog sniffing at a corpse lying in the mouth of a dark alleyway, two soldiers fighting over a basket of wild plants and herbs, a group of young men and boys bloated with hunger.
They hurried down a dark path that cut through the park, Bohemond’s men stood on guard beneath the trees. A short distance away, along a rocky gulley, others were clearing away the rubbish and pulling off the beams across the postern gate. The three horses were saddled; Hugh and Godefroi in full armour stood guarding them. They helped Eleanor into the saddle, whispered their love and good wishes, then, like some dream in the night, Theodore urged his horse forward. Eleanor went next, followed by Simeon, and their horses gingerly picked their way down the narrow gulley of loose shale. The postern door creaked open. An officer beckoned to them, then they were through. Theodore urged his horse forward, and all three cantered out along the winding path, galloping furiously towards the narrow bridge across the Orontes. Immediately the make-believe pursuit began, led by Hugh and Godefroi; soldiers, swords drawn, stumbled out through the gate, screaming and waving their weapons. On the battlements archers loosed shafts that passed dangerously close. Eleanor was aware of her horse at full charge, its head bobbing, hooves clattering. The air reeked of that horrid sweet-sour stench of corruption, and corpses and pieces of armour and weapons littered the ground.
The shouts behind them faded. Eleanor’s horse checked itself, then followed Theodore’s, iron hooves pounding the wooden boards of the narrow bridge then on to rocky ground, the grass dry and sparse. As Theodore swerved to the right, galloping along the river bank, shouts and cries echoed from the battlements. Theodore slowed down as a group of Turkish horsemen, cloaks swirling, thundered towards them. He reined in, Eleanor and Simeon behind, and quickly raised his right hand, palm extended, shouting loudly, repeating the same gasping words. The Turks surrounded them, eyes gleaming in white-cowled dark faces. Theodore’s sword and dagger were quickly plucked from his war belt. Eleanor waved at the cloud of dust threatening to block her eyes and throat. Another shout, and an officer in gleaming breastplate and damascened helmet, blue cloak flying, galloped up gesturing with his gloved hand that the riders pull apart. The tension was almost unbelievable. The Turks were undecided what to do. The only thing that had saved the deserters was that they had been pursued from the gate and galloped directly towards the Turkish outpost. The officer reined in, pulling a scrap of parchment from the cuff of his sleeve. He thrust this at Theodore, who nodded, pointed back at the gates and spoke quickly, urgently, repeating the name Khebogha several times. Theodore acted the part of a deserter with vital news which his new-found allies must know. He spoke excitedly, as if he was the possessor of all the deepest secrets of Count Raymond and the rest. He patted the two leather sacks tied securely to his saddle horn. Firuz’s name was mentioned. Theodore turned, hawked and spat into the dust. The officer, taken in by the high drama, was convinced. He shouted at his men, Theodore’s weapons were returned, then the officer led them off at a furious gallop, a moving wall of dust across the Antiochene plain.