Alys Clare - The Paths of the Air

‘Except for the persistent border skirmishes,’ Josse said softly.

Thibault turned to look at him. ‘You are well versed in the history of the Holy Land, Sir Josse. The term border skirmishes describes exactly what they were, for the Peace of Ramla did not stop the Saracens from pursuing the enemy who were trying to settle on what they perceived as their land.

‘In the course of such fighting — in which my Order was sometimes called upon to take part — prisoners were taken by both sides. In the case of wealthy and influential knights and warriors, men whose families would do almost anything to have them back, there was always the possibility of an exchange. Usually the practice was for one or other party to come to us and express their interest in such an arrangement, offering in exchange either a prisoner of their own or a cash payment.’

Rather, Helewise thought ironically, in the manner in which our own king was captured and then purchased back by his own poor, suffering people.

‘Such things are common in the aftermath of battle,’ Josse observed. ‘Go on, Thibault.’

He shifted on his cot and the sheet covering him from the chest down slipped a little. Helewise saw that the burns extended over his ribs and stomach. Dear God, she thought, is any of him not affected? Sister Caliste squeezed out a clean piece of linen in a bowl of water — it must, Helewise realized, include lavender oil, for the clean, sharp smell pervaded the recess — and, with a hand as gentle as an angel’s, laid it on Thibault’s scarlet flesh. He gave her a smile of gratitude.

She returned it. Then, turning to the Abbess, she said, ‘My lady, he should not go on much longer.’ She shot a concerned glance at her patient. ‘He needs to rest.’

‘I know, Sister,’ Helewise said gently. ‘Thibault? Would you like to finish later?’

But Thibault seemed agitated at the suggestion. ‘No, my lady, I must tell you what I saw while it is fresh in my mind.’

‘Can you not move straight on to the events of yesterday?’ Gervase asked. ‘Surely that is what we need to hear about, and-’

The Hospitaller shook his head. ‘I will tell my tale in my own way,’ he said firmly. ‘It is not from the pleasure of hearing my own voice that I am giving you this information.’

It sounded like an admonition, Helewise thought, and for a moment she saw past the gravely wounded man to the authoritative warrior monk that stood beyond. He must, she reflected, have been an awesome man…

‘After the Peace of Ramla I was commanded to go to Margat, where I was to take up a senior position, and I began my new duties,’ Thibault said. His voice sounded stronger, as if, with the end of his tale at last in sight, he was drawing on his reserve strength. ‘In September two years ago I was summoned to my superior’s quarters and commanded to arrange a prisoner exchange. The man in question was a young Saracen who had taken a deep sword cut in an incident to the east of Crac des Chevaliers. Because his wound was infected he was given into the care of the Hospitallers and, after spending some months at Crac des Chevaliers, he was moved to Margat and he thus became my responsibility.’

‘I do not understand,’ Gervase burst out, ‘how one moment you can be fighting a man and presumably trying desperately to kill him, then the next be doing your best to keep him alive!’ Helewise saw Josse give a quick grin, as if the plain logic of the remark amused him. She waited to see what Thibault would say in reply.

The Hospitaller had turned offended eyes towards the sheriff. ‘You are not,’ he said, ‘a fighting man.’

‘I have taken part in no battle, I admit it.’

Thibault nodded. ‘Then you cannot possibly understand. You, by contrast — ’ he turned to Josse — ‘know full well how it is, do you not?’

Josse, after an embarrassed glance at Gervase, said, briefly, ‘Aye.’

It appeared that Thibault was not even going to attempt an explanation. ‘We used our skill to nurse our young patient and, in time, he began to recover,’ he went on. ‘It was not a quick healing and Brother Michael, who nursed the young man, felt almost that the patient did not want to get better. We have observed,’ he added, ‘that a man who desperately wants to resume his life will recover much more speedily than, say, a man who knows that some feared event awaits him. But, be that as it may, eventually the young man was well enough to leave us and almost immediately the question of exchanging him occurred.’

‘He was to be swapped for some Frankish knight?’ Gervase asked.

‘No. It was not as simple as that. The young man, it appeared, came from a very rich and powerful Saracen clan, a close and loving family who, because of their profound regard for him, badly wanted him home again. It was the young man’s elder brother who made the approach. He sent his representatives to my superior and negotiations were opened. I was commanded to select six of my brethren to act as escorts, and the prisoner would be closely watched by two of our guards.’ He paused, eyes unfocused. ‘The prisoner was manacled and chained and the party set out into the desert by night, heading for the place where the exchange was to be made. Then-’ Again, he stopped. ‘I was not there,’ he said, ‘and I cannot tell you exactly what happened. All I know is that something happened — there was perhaps treachery on behalf of the prisoner’s family and their men; possibly they tried to take both the prisoner and whatever they were offering in payment for him. I do not know and that is my best guess. A fight broke out, in the course of which the monks of the escort group and the two guards were attacked and cut down.’

He looked round at his audience, briefly studying each face. ‘All but one of them perished out there in the desert. We sent out a search party at first light, when they had not returned, and I was ordered to lead it. We reached the place where our brethren were to have met the prisoner’s party and we found carnage. We guessed that many of the enemy had perished — our monks do not go down without a fight — but there must have remained sufficient of their number to bear the dead and the wounded away. They had left our brethren where they lay in their own blood. I who was first off my horse to kneel beside my brothers saw straight away that there was no hope. Six were already dead; one was dying. I crouched beside him — it was dear Brother James; such a devout, caring monk and no mean fighter — and he tried to tell me what had happened. He was choking on his own blood and I could hardly make out the words, but he managed to say that Brother-’ Abruptly he stopped, a shocked expression on his face as if horrified that he had nearly said something he shouldn’t. ‘He told me that one of the brothers had run away.’ His voice was hushed. ‘I could not understand, for it sounded as if Brother James was commending the brother’s cowardly, shameful act! We do not run away whatever the danger, whatever the threat to our own lives. We stay and fight beside our brothers, and if they succumb, we battle on to our last breath at their side.’

‘And so you set out to follow the runaway?’ Helewise asked softly.

Thibault turned to her, looking slightly surprised, as if he had forgotten she was there. ‘I returned to Margat first, my lady, and made my report,’ he replied. ‘Then, when we had tried to patch together a likely sequence of events, we realized that the monk who ran from the scene might by his desertion be responsible for the deaths of his brethren. My master declared that he must be apprehended and brought back to give an account of himself and face whatever punishment was deemed appropriate. I volunteered to lead the pursuit; Brother Otto and Brother Philip were selected to go with me.’ He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘We did not anticipate, when we set out all that time ago, just how long and how far the pursuit of our missing brother was going to take us.’