P. Doherty - The Templar

Eleanor stared across the table at Theodore. She was putting her life into this man’s hands. She trusted him, yet she didn’t really know him. She glanced at Hugh, who stared resolutely back.

‘It is a sacrifice,’ Bohemond said softly, ‘that you and your companions will make on behalf of us all. We must have someone behind the walls of Antioch. Someone quick-witted who will seize any opportunity and use it for the Army of God.’ He pushed himself closer so Eleanor could view his face in the light of the needle-thin candle: strong and brutal, the golden moustache and beard streaked with grey, the skin all peeling but his eyes blazing with passion. She recognised that look; she’d seen the same in her brother’s eyes. She looked at Godefroi, who was still staring into his cup. Simeon stirred restlessly.

‘There is no need for you to come,’ Eleanor whispered.

‘No, mistress-sister, I will be safe with you.’

Bohemond’s lip curled in a smile. ‘Well said, Simeon,’ he declared. ‘Eleanor de Payens is your sure defence. If she left you here, those in this camp who resent your presence might act. Moreover, we need you in Antioch. You know the ways and customs of the enemy, their tongue. You could be of great assistance.’

‘And what if,’ Eleanor asked, ‘we go through the gates of Antioch and are arrested, taken up on to the battlements. Theodore and Simeon are executed. I am raped, stabbed and decapitated and our heads are flung back into the camp. There is that risk.’

‘Of course,’ Bohemond agreed, ‘as there is every risk that Turkish light horse might attack the camp tonight and you could suffer a similar fate.’ He drummed his thick, muscular fingers on the top of the small table before him. ‘Think, Eleanor! The Turks will do you no harm. Why should they? If deserters from this army are brutally executed, that would discourage others. Already men are leaving, mercenaries selling their swords to the highest bidder. Why should they execute you and Theodore? No! No! They will boast of your presence. Who knows,’ he joked, ‘fortune might smile on you. You could be treated as guests of honour, given furnished quarters, good food and drink, a chance to bathe, to be clean and warm, well away from this stinking, freezing camp.’ He paused. The tent flap shifted; a draught of cold air seeped through.

‘There is something else.’ Hugh spoke up.

‘My lord, wait.’ Eleanor held up a hand. ‘We are in the retinue of Raymond of Toulouse. Does he know?’

‘Yes, and he agrees,’ declared Hugh. He leaned across the table and grasped his sister’s hand. ‘If you don’t want to go, you need not, we shall think no worse of you. Count Raymond also believes the only way Antioch will fall is through treachery. For that we need someone we can trust.’

‘You said there was something else?’

Hugh let go of her hands and turned, staring at the tent flap. ‘Listen, Eleanor!’

She did so. Faint sounds: a woman screaming, a man shouting curses.

‘Bishop Adhémar believes,’ Hugh said softly, ‘that one of the reasons we face such obstacles is because the Army of God needs to do reparation, to purge itself, to express sorrow for its sins. He has persuaded our leaders that all women must leave the camp. People like yourself and Imogene will be escorted to the port of St Simeon to await events. The whores, prostitutes and camp followers are to be summarily driven out.’

Eleanor gasped in surprise.

‘It is harsh,’ Bohemond spoke up, ‘but necessary. For God’s sake, woman, we are supposed to be the Army of God, yet we house a crowd of tinkers, moon people, troubadours, whores and catamites. Bishop Adhémar is right! Our camp should be purged, the army must cleanse itself, express its sorrow and receive absolution. We are not talking about women like you, but others. They bring nothing, they offer nothing, yet they eat and drink and impede our progress. Within the week they will be driven from the camp.’

‘And Imogene?’ Eleanor asked. ‘You called her my maidservant.’

Hugh looked at Bohemond, who nodded slightly. ‘Imogene must go with you.’

‘Does she know?’

‘No. You will simply say that she must follow you. She will be given no opportunity to discuss this or talk to anyone about what is happening.’ Hugh paused. ‘It is logical for you to take a servant. Moreover, Imogene cannot stay here to chatter her surprise and, perhaps, her disbelief at your desertion.’

‘Such an observation,’ Godefroi spoke up, ‘might endanger you.’

‘And Beltran?’

‘He does not know, nor will he. Only Count Raymond and the people in this tent know the truth. It’s best that way.’

‘You see,’ Bohemond took up the thread, ‘we want you not only to enter Antioch and discover ways of betraying it, but, if possible, discover who the Turkish spies in our army are. Now of course we know there are Armenian traders,’ he lifted a hand in a weak apology to Simeon, ‘but is there someone else who has an ear at our council door and informs Yaghi Siyan about what we plan? I ride out to forage and I am ambushed. At the same time, because I have left the camp, the enemy attack. Coincidence or a plot? Is there a traitor?’

‘And what happens,’ Simeon spoke up, ‘if we fail, if we are captured or betrayed?’

Bohemond chewed the corner of his lip, refusing to meet Eleanor’s eye. ‘If that happens, and we discover it, we will bargain for your lives. If we fail, I will have Masses sung for your souls.’

‘And what happens if you fail?’ Eleanor asked. ‘What if the army moves down to the coast to take ship?’

Bohemond pointed at Theodore. ‘He has gold, silver and letters hidden away in a certain place in our camp. If the Army of God retreats, Theodore will seize the opportunity to leave as swiftly as possible. After all, what is the point of staying in Antioch if it will never be ours?’

Eleanor caught the change in his voice. Bohemond had nearly said ‘mine’. He smiled to himself as if realising the mistake he’d narrowly missed. ‘Antioch must be taken,’ he continued. ‘Once we have that, we shall march on Jerusalem.’

‘And when do we leave?’

‘Now!’ Hugh spoke up. ‘Tonight, sister. The moon is only a quarter, the sky filling with clouds; there will be more rain. You will be led down to Bridge Gate and left to your own devices. The real danger is being recognised by our own soldiers and attacked as traitors, or by Turkish guards thinking you plan mischief. If you do enter Antioch safely and are accepted, Theodore knows what sign to give. Until then, sister, I shall pray, as will everybody in this tent, that you remain safe. Will you go?’

Eleanor glanced at Theodore. She wanted to refuse, yet she understood the logic of Bohemond’s plan. If things didn’t change, the army would simply rot away. The great cause would collapse and what could she do but wait with the rest? Yet in the end, her life would depend on that dark-faced soldier sitting opposite, so calm and poised. Despite the ravages of the weather, the deprivations of the siege, Theodore always kept himself clean and washed, his black moustache and beard neatly clipped, even oiled. A wild thought occurred to her. What if Theodore was a traitor? What happened if she was taken into Antioch and betrayed? The Greek glanced directly at her, liquid dark eyes full of amusement. Eleanor trusted few men: Hugh and Godefroi, but Theodore was a third. The die was cast. She was committed. She pushed back the cushions and rose.

‘I will go, and as you say, it’s best if we are gone within the hour. After all,’ she laughed sharply, ‘what possessions can I take? What do I have?’

Bohemond rose and embraced her, followed by Hugh and Godefroi. Hugh came back and held her again, pressing her close.