Stewart Binns - Anarchy

‘But, ma’am, I am responsible for your safety and I answer to the Doge. I cannot guarantee your safety if you insist on riding into a battle zone.’

‘You don’t have to. I will take responsibility for my own safety. While you’re here with me, you answer to me. Now, let that be the end of it.’

I could see her mind was made up and that she was unlikely to be dissuaded. But before she dismissed me, I was determined to impose my terms.

‘There are conditions, my Lady.’

‘What are they?’

‘You travel light; your dowry and jewels stay here in Antioch’s treasury. You and Lady Constance must take simple lightweight clothes, with an emergency contingency of soldier’s dress if something goes wrong – you cannot ride side-saddle if we have to outrun a Muslim army.’

‘Agreed.’

‘We leave at first light tomorrow, my Lady.’

‘Very good, I’ll be ready.’

When I told Eadmer of the plan, he was, as usual, philosophical about it.

‘It’s madness! So far, we’ve been ambushed by pirates, shipwrecked, nearly killed by the bloody flux, waylaid by the Seljuks, and now we’re marching off into the desert in the middle of a battle…’

He paused, but only to grin at me.

‘The men will be ready at dawn. I’ll make sure we have good horses for the ladies and each man will carry two skins of water.’

Roger and his army, slowed by a full baggage train, could not have gone far in a week. We had no wagons or pack animals, so I calculated that we could travel between a third and a half as quickly again as he could. I estimated four days before we would catch up with him. I had only two concerns: running into reconnaissance troops from the Muslim army, and the pressure on Livia and Constance from long days in the saddle.

Livia had regained all her radiance; the lustre of her hair and skin had returned. Even with the stern demeanour she had adopted towards me recently, the beguiling serenity of her face was still irresistible. Her body was still a captivating mystery, and I longed to see if it matched my imagination. I fantasized about it, both in my sleep and in my daydreams. I had seen the arresting curves of her slim and girlish form while she slept, and had peered through her open chemise during our disastrous encounter in the Taurus Mountains. But these were only tempting morsels. What I desperately desired was to feast on her without inhibition and to reveal every part of her. I struggled to make such thoughts stop; they made me breathless, and my heart raced like a galloping warhorse. But I had to contain them – where we were going would require a calm body and a clear head.

We rode as a highly disciplined group: three hours at dawn, then food; two more hours, then food and rest in the shade until the late afternoon; three more hours, then food and sleep. All the time it was canter, then trot; canter, then trot. Men continually peeled off to look for water for the horses – without that, we would have had to walk. Thankfully, Constance was a lot younger than Livia’s earlier companions and kept the pace well. Livia never gave a hint of discomfort. Her mind was on only one thing: confronting her erstwhile fiancé. And that opportunity arrived a little sooner than I had anticipated.

We had just reached the end of the third day when a pathfinder I had sent ahead with the guide returned at a gallop, pursued by several Christian knights and a squadron of cavalry. I rode ahead to meet them, to be confronted by an agitated knight who, without any of the usual courtesies, demanded to know what our business was on the frontier of Christendom. Although the Christians of the Holy Land had come to be known as ‘Franks’, most of them were either Norman or from Normandy’s neighbours. The Norman tongue had thus become the common language.

‘Good evening, Sir Knight. I am Harold of Hereford and I am escorting the Lady Livia, Princess of Venice, to meet her betrothed, Prince Roger of Salerno.’

‘You have brought a woman out here?’

‘Perhaps you would give me your name, sir?’

Irritated at my insistence on formality, he spat his answer at me.

‘Guy of Amiens. I ask you again, you’ve brought a woman out here?’

‘Yes – two, in fact. They are back there with my marines.’

He turned to his fellow knights, smirking.

‘Marines… and two women… out here? You must be a madman!’

He started to laugh out loud, causing his comrades to do the same. While they did so, Livia, pursued by Constance, rode at speed to join us. She hesitated for just a moment, gave the Christian knight a withering look, and rode straight past him.

The knight was dumbfounded.

‘Where is she going? There’s a Muslim fanatic out there, Il-Ghazi, the Atabeg of Aleppo, with an Artuqid army ten thousand strong!’

I ignored him and waved to my squadron to follow me in pursuit of Livia. It was a long chase. She did not let up her pace, leaving Constance fifty yards in her wake, and was in danger of exhausting her horse. I caught her after about ten minutes and bellowed at her to stop, which she eventually did, harshly pulling up her mount.

‘Livia, for God’s sake! You’ll kill your horse, he’s been ridden all day.’

‘I want to see Prince Roger tonight. If there’s going to be a battle, I want to challenge him before he gets himself killed.’

‘Fine, we’ll get you there. Just wait for the military escort. Let’s make our entrance in a way befitting the arrival of the Princess of the Serenissima.’

She relented and, with Guy of Amiens and his squadron leading us, we rode into Prince Roger’s camp in a highly disciplined fashion. Venetian marines are not trained cavalry, but they looked splendid in their red tunics and carrying their shields decorated with the city’s golden lion. The squadron horn-blower sounded our arrival, making the whole camp stop and stare at the unexpected visitors.

I helped Livia down from her horse and she marched over to the Prince’s tent with long, deliberate strides, more like the gait of a military equerry than that of a gentle lady of a royal household. Prince Roger was already on his feet. He was surrounded by his entourage and senior knights. They were relaxed and had already started eating and drinking. The Prince was very tall and thin with red hair, scorched blond by the hot sun of the Levant, but with long streaks of grey at the temples. He looked mean-faced and calculating, but had all the superficial charm of a nobleman.

‘My Lady, I am honoured. Welcome to my camp. I am Roger of Salerno, Prince of Antioch.’

‘I know your name, my Lord. I am Livia Michele, Princess of Venice.’

The Prince visibly blanched.

‘Madam, please sit. I am overwhelmed. I thought you were lost. I…’

He hesitated, not knowing what to say next.

Livia seized the advantage.

‘May we go inside and talk privately?’

The Prince nodded his assent.

‘Of course, madam. My constable will take care of your men and horses.’

She turned to me.

‘Please wait here.’

I did not want her to leave my sight. But there was nothing I could say to justify being privy to the conversation she was about to have.

After about half an hour, Livia emerged looking much more relaxed. With a large goblet of wine in his hand, the Prince was smiling broadly; it looked like an amicable deal had been struck. Livia spoke to me a little less sternly than she had of late.

‘Would you ask Lady Constance to join me? We are going to eat with Prince Roger.’

‘Very well, ma’am. Do you want me to stay with you?’

‘That will not be necessary. You can stay with the men.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Prince Roger is arranging a tent for me.’

‘Then we will guard it.’