Tom Harper - Siege of Heaven

The tent was suddenly alive with optimism, babbling with questions and hope. Several of the princes declared that they would march on Jerusalem that very night. Achard shook off their enthusiasm, lifting his one arm like a gallows to recapture their attention.

‘I have not reported everything I learned on my travels.’ His voice was severe; the colour had drained from his face, so that the scars stood out in a livid web against the skin. ‘While I was held captive in Egypt, a delegation of Greeks arrived to treat with the caliph. Two of them are in this room now.’

He swung around to fix his bulging stare on Nikephoros, and me behind him. The men around us seemed to shrink away: others craned their heads to stare.

‘We went to Egypt for the same reason as you,’ said Nikephoros. ‘Because we thought the Egyptians might join us against the Turks, when the Turks still held Jerusalem.’

‘So you said. But I learned differently. Your real purpose was to make an alliance with the Ishmaelites against us , to annihilate our army and divide the lands we had conquered between you.’ As shock and anger hissed around the room, he stepped forward and stabbed a finger towards us. ‘Do you deny it?’

Standing behind Nikephoros I could not see his face, but I saw him stiffen as though an arrow had ripped through his heart. Before he could answer, Raymond said uncertainly, ‘This is a solemn charge against our closest allies. How could you know it?’

‘Because their treachery was too much even for the Fatimid vizier to stomach. When he granted the Greek an audience, he hid me in a secret room behind his chamber so that I could see and hear it for myself.’

A silence of condemnation gripped the crowded tent. Nikephoros held himself still, swaying slightly like a man on a high wall trying to keep his balance.

‘Yes, there was treachery in Egypt.’

A hiss, confirmation of every wickedness and evil the Franks had ever imputed to the Greeks.

‘But it was not mine. The viper king of the Egyptians, the high priest of their heresy, has tried to confound us at every turn. He has dangled alliances or threatened war as his whim permits. And now that he fears his black hands are about to be prised off the holy city, he has tricked this poor broken knight into thinking he saw something he did not. He has tried to break apart the holy union at the heart of this army, the alliance of all Christians from east and west.’ He looked around at the assembled princes, knights and bishops. ‘I trust you will have the wisdom to recognise the lies of the devil when they creep into your councils.’

‘ The lies of the devil? ’ screeched Achard. ‘These are not lies. These are things I saw and heard with my own eyes and ears. Does anyone say I have been possessed by the devil?’

‘You have been in his power — as we all were in Egypt. The devil is the prince of illusions. In his palace, how could you be sure of anything you saw? Was there a fire burning in the room?’

‘It was October.’

‘And there was a sweet smell in its smoke — as if spices or incense had been sprinkled on the flames?’

‘There was. But-’

‘And candles burning?’

‘You seem to know a great deal about the scene,’ said Godfrey.

‘I know how the devil works his snares — the better to resist them. I am not ashamed of it. The emperor Alexios made sure that I did not go to the arch-fiend’s palace unprepared.’

‘Or perhaps you went to meet one of your own,’ snapped Achard.

Nikephoros looked around. ‘Everyone can see that Achard has suffered terribly at the hands of the Fatimids. Perhaps he blames the Greeks, because God ordained that some of us should escape while he did not. Perhaps he was enchanted by demons, or perhaps his tormented mind conjured memories of things that never happened. But you do not have to choose his word or mine against each other. Look around you: use reason. If the emperor had turned against you, would his grain ships be crowding the seas between here and Cyprus to bring the food you rely on to support your armies? Would he be sending you subsidies of gold, fresh arms and horses?’

He dropped his voice. ‘You can believe the word of an addled knight who has spent too long in the bosom of the enemy, or you can believe the word of a lord of Byzantium. For the sake of our great undertaking, I hope you see clearly when you choose the truth.’

A fresh silence descended on the tent as the princes considered his words. Raymond looked eager to speak, even opened his mouth to do so, then retreated as he realised his word would carry less weight than others’.

‘No one can question the emperor’s generosity to us,’ said Godfrey. ‘It has sustained us through many hardships, and — God willing — will help speed us to Jerusalem. Achard must have been mistaken.’

The others nodded, though without enthusiasm. Achard, however, looked mortified. The stump of his arm tensed and quivered, as if he were shaking an invisible fist; his eyes bulged so far out that it seemed only the veins around their edges held them in.

‘I was not enchanted,’ he screamed. ‘I walked freely into the heart of Babylon, into the palace of the damned. I suffered torments you can barely imagine and I did it willingly, for the glory of Christ. And now you tell me that I did not see what I saw?’ He slammed the palm of his hand against the stub of his truncated arm, never wincing. ‘What about this? Will you say that there is a healthy arm here, that my leg does not ache each time I step on it, that the burns and scars that the caliph’s torturers carved into my body are figments of my imagination? Did I dream it?’

‘No one questions what you endured,’ said Raymond hurriedly. ‘The ancient martyrs themselves would stand in awe of your strength. You will be honoured with gold, with lands, with men — I will give you a company of my own knights to command.’ He stood and walked forward, embraced Achard and offered him the kiss of peace. ‘But the Greeks are vital allies. Loyal allies. What you say about them cannot be true.’

He retook his seat, so that Achard stood alone in the ring of princes. I could see two attendants hovering behind him, waiting to take him away, though they did not dare approach. He looked around wildly, his staring eyes accusing every man in the room. No one met his gaze. Tears ran down his cheeks; out of habit he lifted his left arm to wipe them away, then realised he could not. He turned, and ran out of the tent.

‘God go with him,’ said Godfrey softly. ‘This was not his fault.’

The Fatimid envoys departed that afternoon: it was not safe for them to stay longer in the camp. Count Raymond sent a troop of cavalry to escort them to a safe distance and I rode with them — though Nikephoros berated me for it afterwards. It was not good for Byzantines and Fatimids to be seen in company, he warned me.

‘Will you return to Egypt?’ I asked Bilal. We rode together, he on his camel and I on the dirty-grey palfrey I had commandeered at Saint Simeon and ridden ever since.

‘No.’ He did not look at me as he spoke; his eyes were forever scanning the road ahead, the undergrowth by the wayside, the slopes above, always searching for danger. ‘I will join the army at Jerusalem.’

‘Then we may meet again.’

‘I hope not. Not there.’

We rode on. ‘If only Christ had gone to die on a rock somewhere out at sea,’ I said.

‘And if the prophet had been taken up to heaven from some scrap of sand in the desert.’

I gave a sad laugh. ‘Then men would have built shrines and castles over those places, and found some reason to fight each other for them.’

‘Truly.’ Bilal’s gaze wandered over the trees to our left. Suddenly, he stiffened. ‘What is that?’