Tom Harper - Siege of Heaven

‘Then death shall be no more — nor sorrow nor pain — for all the former things shall have passed away. The holy city, the new Jerusalem, will come down out of heaven, and the Lord will dwell with his people. The kingdom of the world will become the kingdom of our Messiah, and he will reign for ever.’

Arnulf looked up, letting the censer come to rest. Around me, the whispered repetitions rolled away into silence. The acolyte who held the book closed it and shuffled back out of the light.

‘As for the one who reveals these things,’ Arnulf declared, ‘he says: “I am coming soon.”’

The crowd took up his words, repeating them over and again so that the call seemed to whirl in the air like a flock of crows. I am coming . Arnulf let it build, standing in the crux of the valley with his arms spread apart. The six priests behind him seemed to have melted away so that he stood there alone and exultant. Still the chant grew. I am coming .

With a deft movement Arnulf suddenly took a step back, upended the censer and dashed it to the ground. A cascade of glowing coals spilled out. They should have lain there dying; instead, like sparks on tinder, they seemed to ignite the earth. A huge fire erupted from the ground where they had fallen, so vast I thought it must have consumed Arnulf. Even on the heights where I knelt, men cowered back from the blaze. After the darkness before, I felt as if a hole had been burned through my eyes. But still the chant went on. I am coming .

Squinting through the pain and tears, I saw Arnulf on the far side of the blaze. Wreathed in fire, he held aloft his scroll, snapped the seal and threw the parchment on the flames. It disappeared, one more cinder in the inferno. Smoke drifted up to envelop me, choke me; the crackle of flames filled my ears, and with it the blast of trumpets, the ripple of harp strings. The earth trembled beneath me and my flesh seemed turned to water. Woe, woe to the inhabitants of the earth . The slope fell away, plunging into a bottomless pit; I tottered on my knees, swayed and fell forward.

Thankfully, I had just enough wit or instinct left to throw out my hands. They fell on the stony ground, jarring me to my senses. Crouched on all fours like an animal, I looked down into the pit of the valley. The fire still burned high, and I could still see a figure through the flames. But it was not Arnulf. He wore a dark riding cloak with the hood pulled up, shading his face, but I could see that he stood both taller and broader than the priest. Even in shadow, he radiated power.

Above the trumpets, the harps, the roaring flames, I heard three words echo around the deep bowl of the valley, spoken with the sound of a thousand voices.

‘Here I am.’

I could bear it no more. Stumbling to my feet, I fled.

I ran back to the camp, scrambling and staggering as if all the forces of hell had already burst their gates to pursue me. I barely knew where I was going until Count Raymond’s pickets challenged me; then, calmed by the feel of familiar ground, I wandered until at last I managed to find my tent. In my madness I almost tripped over Sigurd, lying sprawled in front of the door of the tent.

‘Where in hell have you been?’ he demanded.

‘Closer to hell than you know.’

The tremors in my voice stayed his anger. He stood, and led me to the rocky escarpment on the edge of the camp. The night was warm, but my experience had left me so cold I could not keep from shivering. When Sigurd saw this he left me, and presently returned with a blanket, which he draped around my shoulders, and a flask of strong wine. He would not let me speak until I had taken three large gulps: then, as gently as he knew how, he pressed me for my story.

When I had finished, he grunted. ‘If strife in the world meant the end of it, the world would never have begun. Men have been prophesying its doom ever since they realised it was created.’

I took another draught of the wine, relishing its acid taste on my tongue. That at least felt real. ‘It would almost be better if the prophecy was true. At least Anna and the children would be out of danger.’

I had hoped Sigurd would say something to reassure me against my pessimism. Instead, he stared into the darkness and said nothing. I hugged my knees to my chest. My panic was subsiding, but reason brought a chill clarity that was unrelenting in its grip.

‘It doesn’t matter if the prophecy’s true or not.’

‘It’ll matter if it does come true,’ Sigurd objected.

‘No.’ My voice was thin and hollow. ‘What matters is that there are men in this army who believe that it’s true. There were hundreds there tonight, maybe more.’

‘They’ll have a surprise when they wake up the morning after we capture the city and discover it’s still there.’

‘No!’ I banged my fist on the stony ground. Sharp fragments of rock dug into the side of my hand. ‘They believe that the consummation of the world is at hand. If they capture Jerusalem they will destroy it, fill it so deep with blood that it drowns.’ I pulled the blanket tighter around me: I was shaking so hard I thought my bones might break from their sockets. ‘They will kill every man, woman and child in that city in order to fulfil the prophecy and bring on the apocalypse. Not one will survive .’

Sigurd was quiet. For a moment I wished he would put his arms around me and hug me like a woman, anchor my desolation. But he was captive to his own thoughts and did not move.

‘Then we’ll have to reach Anna and your daughters before the Franks do.’ He looked over his shoulder and pointed at the siege tower, a hulking silhouette against the glow of the city beyond. ‘We need to be the first men onto the walls.’

‘The first men to die with a faceful of Saracen arrows.’

‘Perhaps.’ Sigurd picked up a stone and tossed it down the embankment. ‘What else can we do? If the Franks want to drown the city in blood, all we can do is run before the wave.’

At another time, the thought of putting myself in the front rank of the battle of the ages would have terrified me. Now I accepted it with meek dread. I had never wanted to see Jerusalem; now I would be the first on its walls or, more likely, die in the attempt. Once again, the veil between the worlds drew back and I almost heard the fates laughing. And, in their laughter, I heard a new threat that left me far colder than any thoughts of Saracen arrows and fire.

‘What if Count Raymond doesn’t take the city?’

Sigurd shrugged. ‘Then the world won’t end — and Anna and the others will be safe.’

I shook my head. ‘That was not what I meant. Raymond has lost more than half his army in the last month, and when he launches that siege monster at the walls, he’ll have to push it uphill over broken ground. Meanwhile, Duke Godfrey will be attacking from the north with twice his numbers.’

‘So …’

‘So the first men off Raymond’s tower may not be the first men into the city.’

The white stallion reared up on its hind legs, its front hooves clubbing at the air. The groom who held the halter leaped back, hauling on the rope to bring the horse down. He barely managed to stay on his feet; I was surprised he did not get his head kicked in.

Across the paddock, Duke Godfrey stood by the wattle enclosure and watched, his arms folded across his chest. Four knights stood around him in a wary circle. If any man had benefited from Raymond’s decline, it was Godfrey, and though he had professed indifference it had obviously affected him. He seemed to stand taller, his shoulders broader. There was an authority about him — and, more than that, a knowledge of it — such as I had seen in few other men. Bohemond had been one, but with him power had always been a spectacle. Chasing it, wrestling it, relishing it — he hid nothing, but made a theatre of his ambitions. Some men shrank from their power and others, like Raymond, believed they possessed more than they did, but none seemed so effortlessly comfortable with it as Duke Godfrey.