Chapter Ten ~ First Contact

The two pilgrims from Winterkirche rode along the dry, dusty road with faces so long their chins almost scraped another rut. The three knights, Black Beast, Alain and Gerhardt, hurried their mounts to ride up alongside them.

"I know why Elias looks like someone died, but your squire, why does he?" Alain prodded, a playful look on his face that was repeated on the other two knights'. "Lovers' quarrel?"

Elisabeth gave Alain a baleful look. Albrecht would not meet the man's eyes.

"Ho, calm yourself. Nothing meant by it." Alain's hands were up, one with his mount's reins draped between the fingers loosely.

Black Beast rode closer to the Frank. Slapping him on the back, he bellowed, "Come now, mon ami, you must remember what it is like to be so young and in love for the first time."

Gerhardt counseled, "Leave them alone. We have enough misery to deal with ahead of us. Why start it out worse than it already is?"

For an answer, Elisabeth called, "Come, Albrecht. The wind is too hot here." She urged Gauner into a trot and moved away from the knights. Albrecht followed.

"I was just trying to get them to lighten up." Black Beast frowned. "He doesn't really think he is in love, does he? She was just a kept whore."

Alain studied his fingernails.

Gerhardt quipped, "Better not say that to Elias. You will be sorry you taught him so many of your fighting moves."

"Hmmm," the big man acknowledged. "Say, did you hear he clobbered one of the guards on the gate?"

Alain looked up at that. "It was when he went to find that wench. I understand that Andronikos smoothed it all over. And lo and behold the girl was back and with a brat in tow."

Riding along further up the column, Elisabeth shook her head. "They can be such arse holes sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Albrecht responded.

The two settled into the companionable silence of a long day's journey, each lost in thoughts of his or her own.

Thoughts of Maliha lying beside her, so soft, so fragrant and so loving filled Elisabeth's mind. They had done their best to make what they could of the few days they would have together. To her joy, Elisabeth was able to spend time with Tacetin, who was shy at first. They decided he should not see her as anything but a man, if only to avoid slips of the toddler's tongue. The boy with his tousled dark hair and huge black eyes studied her from the safety of Maliha's arms until finally he reached out a small hand and touched Elisabeth's cheek. He said something in baby Turkish. Maliha replied in Greek, "Yes, Mama loves Elli."

Elisabeth looked up questioning. "Elli?"

"That is what he called you. It's rather nice, isn't it? It can be for Elias or Elisabeth. I think I would like to call you that." She smiled into her lover's eyes.

Elisabeth put her arms around them both. She nestled her head so that both Maliha's and Tacetin's foreheads touched hers. "I should like that. I will love being your Elli."

If it had been up to her, the pilgrim knight would have spent all day and all night closeted in her chamber with those honey-colored eyes to gaze into. Andronikos made no demands of either of the women. They were as free as they could be for a time, considering all the preparation that went into the impending departure of the pilgrims.

The two women did have their evenings and nights to themselves. They remained in bed, touching, kissing, tasting. They played a game of "twins," taking turns comparing parts of their bodies, and then applying the desired attention to them. It was hard to keep at bay the awareness of being separated almost as soon as they had come together, but each did her best to distract herself and the other.

It took Elisabeth a couple of days to realize that she had hardly seen her squire since Maliha's return. She happened to see him and the eunuch arm in arm on their way to the pavilion where the Byzantine had made his advances on her and understood. She let a brief thought of her brother cross her mind, and then decided that Elias would have wanted this. She let Albrecht have his time with a new lover, knowing she could ask him how it had all come about later.

On one languid evening Elisabeth tried to explain why she just did not leave the crusade and stay in Constantinople. "I have three reasons," she began.

Maliha replied, "You have two to stay, and three if you count the fact that Albrecht seems to want to stay as well."

Elisabeth's eyes begged her lover to allow her to go on. "There is my vow made in Mölk to make my way to Jerusalem. . . . "

"You can still do that. Later. And take Tacetin and me."

"Let me go on. Part of that vow is to help keep the Holy City from being retaken by the Paynim. I am also fulfilling my brother's vow."

Maliha knew all about Elias now. She started to say that Elisabeth could fulfill Elias's vow later, too, but she thought better of it.

"And there is one more reason, even more important than those." Elisabeth paused until Maliha looked up and into her eyes. "I must find our father or what happened to him." She put a finger to the woman's full lips to silence her for just a little longer. "No, no one else can do that. I know his knights. If I find them between here and Jerusalem I will hopefully find Father or some news of him. If he is missing or dead or being held, it will most likely be in Turkish hands. Andronikos is influential and powerful, but not outside this empire."

Maliha took Elisabeth's hand and pressed a kiss into its palm. "I understand. You must find him. Just promise that when you do, you will come back to me. Promise you won't be killed."

Elisabeth leaned to put her own lips to the lips turning salty with newly shed tears. "I promise not to be killed and to come back to you."

However much the two jealously guarded their time alone, the Christian forces were preparing for their journey to the Holy Land. She was forced to participate in a most unpleasant task, visiting the Lombard camp to get the unruly mob into some sort of order.

Less than a month since she had first seen the camp she found it more crowded, filthier and more fractious. She knew more about the disturbances that had forced the Basileus to pen up the mix of pilgrims. All the way from where they first set foot in Byzantium to within sight of the imposing walls of the Sublime City, the rougher elements had run amok. Their winter journey had been miserable. They were only welcome at arm's length as they traveled en masse through the Balkans. The months dragged by; the food was unreliable; there was the inevitable outbreak of illness in such a multitude. Once in the empire they appeared to believe that they were in Paynim land and that plunder and rampage were authorized. It was all Anselm, the Archbishop of Milan and their leader, could do to get them to understand that they were yet in Christian territory and the plunder they stole was from Christians like themselves.

Emperor Alexios was infuriated by the human pestilence. He had petitioned the Pontiff and the Church of Rome for knights to come to help him hold off Kilij Arslan and his Turkish allies. Instead the first arrivals proved to be rabble, poor, rowdy, not skilled at arms, and ignorant. At best he would have to house and feed them, at worst he had to defend his people and territory from them. He sent soldiers to escort them to a camp built near the city walls. Under watch they could wait for the more formal knightly forces to arrive and then go on their way.

The various firebrands were incensed at being imprisoned in the inadequate camp. All Anselm and his clerics and the few nobles with them could do was try to counsel calm and patience. One night they overwhelmed the guards and broke through one of the great gates and poured into the city. They tore through the streets breaking into shops and even churches, stealing and smashing what they could not carry. They made their way to the great stone edifice of the Blachernae Palace. It took all the palace guards to subdue them and herd them out beyond the walls. Many of the people who had left Lombardy to make their way to the Holy Land never got any farther than the paupers' graveyard in Constantinople.

It was said that after the rampage Alexios knelt by the body of one of his precious lions. He could not even imagine the set of circumstances that had ended in the big cat's killing. As he stroked the tawny face, it took all his restraint not to order the massacre of the Lombards, each and every one of them.

Instead he commanded Anselm's presence in one of the looted churches. One of Andronikos's friends told Elisabeth what happened next as he sat with his goblet of wine on one of the eunuch's brocade couches. "The arrogant Archbishop nonetheless paled at the sight of the destruction as he entered. Not only were the precious and holy items stripped, the vessels containing sacramental wine lay strewn and empty and mostly shattered on the floor, the floor was further covered in refuse and human waste, and figures and decorations on the silent tombs of the dead were hacked off or simply obliterated."

The Basileus would not speak, but his first lord spoke for him. "How will you pay for this destruction, your Grace? How will you compensate the families of the dead who just yesterday enjoyed breathing the fragrance of life? Did your people forget where they were? Did they think they were in the palace of the Turk? Did they not know they were in the principal city of Christendom, greater even than Rome?"

Elisabeth could guess that any impulse to abase himself fled from Anselm's mind when he heard the last words. He had nothing to say.

A few days later the Archbishop took to his sickbed and left punishment and reparations to the military leaders of the Lombard contingents.

In the end the Lombards found themselves in worse conditions in a camp in Nicomedia, far enough away from the city gates to make their return unlikely, and guarded by far more than a few guards. There the men, women and children waited in the filth and degradation. Hundreds lay dead of knife fights, murder and disease in a makeshift bone-yard within the fence.

The greatest shock was that in spite of the Emperor's promises, no new camp had been provided for the soldiers and their families from the contingent with which Elisabeth and Albrecht had traveled. The press of misery was simply pressed further.

With her nose and mouth covered with a scented scarf and her eyes averted from the worst of the filth, Elisabeth marshaled a mostly dispirited mob into a semblance of order. As she went through the camp she was surprised to hear her brother's name called. She looked up to see Ranulf, the mercenary who had bought her night with the delicious Giuliana, sitting on a stack of crates smiling at her.

"They held you in here?" she exclaimed, shocked. Her eyes surveyed the others nearby and picked out the three other mercenaries. "How did you know it was me?" she asked, pushing down the scarf and wincing at the rank odors.

"I didn't. I recognized Gauner. So I take it you have been in swankier quarters." Ranulf hopped down from his perch and approached her. She tried not to let it show when his stench reached her nostrils.

"We'll be heading out in a day or two, east to Dorylaeum." She thought a moment. "I am trying to make some order out of this chaos. If you and the others would help me, I will see what I can do to get you released and into some sort of lodgings in Nicomedia." She eyed Ragnar, Thomas and Ruggiero who had come to stand arrayed behind Ranulf. "But you have to swear not to make any trouble."

Ragnar turned away in disgust. Ruggiero swore in Italian. Thomas fixed a baleful eye on her. Ranulf leaned his head on one side with a look of pure condemnation on his face. "My Lord Elias, you wound us. Have we not won your trust after all we have been through already?"

She was ashamed. "I-I am sorry. You are right. I will go immediately and arrange for your release to help us." She saluted sharply and turned and rode away.

Now on the road to Dorylaeum, Elisabeth looked up to see a smiling Ranulf riding alongside her. "Finally on our way. Where are your shepherds?" the mercenary asked.

She scowled at him. He simply smiled the broader. "Hello, Albrecht. Happy to be back on the road? Ah, I see not. Losing heart, are we?"

"Left their hearts behind, I would guess." It was Ruggiero's rough voice.

The look on Elisabeth's face seemed to confirm the supposition. Ranulf's face softened. "Tough break, lad," he said. "It happens to us all."

Ragnar snorted. "Speak for yourself. The heart not given is never broken."

She knew now what had transpired between Albrecht and Andronikos. Just before they left Constantinople, she spotted her squire sitting alone in the fragrant garden just at dusk. She smiled at him as he sat wistfully sniffing some exotic flower. "So," she led, "Got anything you want to share with your lord and master?"

His sardonic look quickly changed to a meaningful sigh. "Yes, and it is apparently something we truly share. Your eyes glow whenever the Turkish woman enters a chamber. You are truly in love, are you not?"

She cast down her eyes over reddening cheeks. "Yes, I am. I never thought this would happen to me. But," she inserted as she looked into Albrecht's face, "I think you may have found love . . . again."

He nodded. "I have. Like you I never thought it would happen to me, not a second time." He smiled at a memory. "The very night your Maliha was brought back and you were in the tub, I went to leave you two alone."

Elisabeth gave him a playful shove. "Yes, without telling me! How did you know she had guessed my little secret? We could both have been undone, you, me, both of us."

Albrecht grinned. "I just knew. Trust me."

"Never again," she laughed.

He resumed his story. "I found Andronikos in the corridor, looking at me. He said something about whether my young lord was happy now. I almost said, 'She is,' but caught myself. He approached me and said in a soft voice, 'I cannot help but think you are not so happy. You have a grief, a loss. I would like to help you heal. May I be so bold as to ask you to come to my private chamber? We can speak there with no prying ears.' Of course I assumed he planned a seduction."

"When is he not," she retorted, but seeing a cautionary look on Albrecht's face, she became serious and attentive again.

"I told him that I had lost someone dear to me, and I said it would take a great deal of healing for me to get involved with anyone new. He assured me he only wanted to hear about me and my sorrow, so I took his arm and we went to his chamber."

She waited for more details, but Albrecht remained silent. "Well?" she prodded curiously.

"Let me just say that Andronikos is a deeply caring man who understands loss and has waited a long time himself to find a new love."

"And, I take it, you are that new love?"

His radiant face was his answer. "Funny, you know I have been in love before. I am learning now that there are all kinds of love, even within the boundaries of carnal attraction. I loved . . . your brother . . . deeply. I always shall. But with Andronikos it's different. The passion is there, but it's a mellower passion. It does not steal any territory from Elias in my heart."

She put her hand on the man's arm and squeezed. "I guessed it had happened. And I will tell you that I did think about Elias but decided he would want this for you."

Albrecht's voice broke as he said, "He would like Andronikos, don't you think?"

"I know he would. And he will be happy, wherever he is, to know you are loved. Have . . . " She hesitated. "Have you made any promises?"

His look was wry. "You mean do I trust him? Is he going to forget about me the moment I ride out of the gates? Do you trust Maliha?"

Warmth filled her at the thought. "I do. And you are right to remind me that as singular as it feels, our love is not the only love in the world." She frowned. "Nor are we the only lovers to be separated so soon." She glanced at him. "I would not blame you if you chose not to continue. I would release you from your vow."

Albrecht stared at her. "You can release me from my vow to you, my lord, but not to myself, not to your brother, and certainly not to God. I am coming, whatever will be will be."

She clasped his arm again. "Deus lo volt."

In camp Elisabeth found herself drawn to the mercenaries' fire. They welcomed her and her squire with no ceremony. As they sat on the blankets around the fire, Thomas handed them the wineskin the mercenaries shared. They drank gratefully and sat listening to the conversation around them. A brace of other soldiers sat in the group. One was gesticulating feverishly.

"What have they got to say about it?" he was saying. "As if they haven't already taken the wind out of this pilgrimage with their idiocy."

She took the cup of stew with meager vegetables and unknown meat and ate, listening carefully to learn what was amiss.

"He is their big hero. He's a Lombard himself, devil take him," Ruggiero said, not hiding his disdain for all things Lombard. One of the other men glared in his direction, but the mercenary ignored him.

"How did he get his Lombard arse captured anyway," another man asked.

"He's not a Lombard. He's a Norman," a peevish voice corrected.

"Who?" Elisabeth managed to whisper to Ranulf.

The man who had just spoken shouted, "Bohemond, that's who. The Prince of Antioch," he said mockingly.

"Over Alexios' dead body."

"And our valorous Raymond's. No way Saint Gilles will turn north to go save him."

Ranulf answered the man's question like a priest lecturing small boys. "Bohemond made it his business to get to Antioch first, and being the leader of the pilgrims, he got his way. He claimed he had Alexios's word that Antioch was his. Raymond of Toulouse did not think so. But in the long run, Bohemond set himself up for a nasty surprise. Raymond went on to Jerusalem, getting the credit in heaven with that move. Nobody could extract Bohemond from his principality, but last August when one of his allies called for his help with an attack by the Paynim, he ventured out of the city and got himself ambushed. He's rotting in Nixtar up to the northeast."

Ragnar puffed out his chest. "He's being held by Danish men!" He jabbed himself with a thumb.

Ranulf rolled his eyes. "The Danishmend, Ragnar."

Ragnar elbowed the man next to him to indicate his mistake was no more than a jest.

Elisabeth ventured, "But won't someone ransom him?"

"How do we know all this, anyway?" the florid gesticulating man asked.

Ranulf supplied, "He managed to send one of his knights to Baldwin of Edessa. And I have heard that Alexios will ransom him but only if the Turks turn the man over to Alexios. He is miffed that the man acted in such ill faith."

"You seem to know a lot about this fellow, Norman. Have you served under him?" the Lombard asked.

Ruggiero, Ragnar, Thomas, Elisabeth and Albrecht all stopped eating and drinking and looked at him. "Not as such. But I have met him when I fought for his uncle, Roger of Sicily, against the Amalfi rebels, the poor sods. He's quite an imposing fellow. Taller than any man here. The very model of a heroic knight. Sharp as an adder's bite. And definitely not in it for the glory of God."

"So are you all saying that the Lombard contingent wants to go rescue him?" Elisabeth asked.

Ruggiero grinned. "That's exactly what they want, for us to turn north after we take Ancyra and overrun all of the Seljuk strongholds on the way. That should make Alexios happy. If we can pull it off, that is."

"And why wouldn't we?" Ragnar demanded of his companion.

"I'm not saying we wouldn't. But it's rather out of the way. We are supposed to be on our way to Jerusalem." Several voices affirmed Ruggiero's sentiment.

"And as far as I am concerned, Alexios and Bohemond can go bugger each other."

This comment from the florid man was rewarded with general guffaws.

Elisabeth turned to Ranulf and asked in a lower tone, "Saint Gilles seemed pretty tight with the Emperor. Will he overlook his resentment against Bohemond and go try to rescue him?"

Ranulf took some time before he answered. "I don't know. It may be less that he goes along with the idea than that he really won't have a choice."

She gazed at him, astounded by the change in plans.

One face that did not appear in the long line of pilgrims on the road was Archbishop Anselm's. She knew he had fallen ill and remained so. It was said he would join the next contingent; that was, if he recovered. Much of his entourage stayed with him in Constantinople, but his military leaders rode very near the fore. Needless to say, the Lombard rabble loaned their noise and stink to the procession, Archbishop or not.

As they rode, Albrecht had his eye on the large force of Pecheneg warriors that the Basileus insisted travel with the pilgrims. They were a squat race, with slanted eyes and drooping moustaches over clean-shaven chins, which made them look like they were always scowling. They wore chain mail like the pilgrim knights, but they wore garish colored coats with highly decorated bindings along the front and hems. Their outlandish helmets were conical and sported some sort of tassel or feather from the pointed top. They were remarkable riders who carried round shields like the English, long narrow swords and elaborately curved bows. The squire thought them the most exotic beings he had ever seen.

Their leader, Tzitas, road ever at Saint Gilles's side. Everyone knew Raymond was Alexios's man now, and some wondered if the Pecheneg were there to enforce Raymond's preeminence as leader of the pilgrim force. If it was so, his capitulation about going to free Bohemond seemed unexplainable.

Albrecht asked Ranulf, who, with his men, now rode with Elisabeth and himself, "Where are they from?"

Ranulf glanced over at the fierce body of the Pecheneg. "North of the Black Sea. They are all mercenaries."

His eyes wide, Albrecht repeated, "North of the Black Sea?" He pondered. "So, does the Emperor want Bohemond rescued or not?"

Ranulf shrugged. "I don't know. My guess would be not. Perhaps the Basileus does not savor setting his mercenaries on the Lombard rabble. And whatever hurts the Turks is his gain."

"So you are saying the diversion might actually play into the Emperor's best interest."

The mercenary captain smiled at him blandly in answer.

Much of the journey from Nicomedia was through Byzantine territory, so supplies were plentiful. The crossing into Seljuk Turk-ruled lands was most noticeable when the supplies stopped coming. It would be nothing but plunder and foraging now. They had enough to last until they reached the stronghold at Ancyra, but not for a long siege. The leaders insisted with bombast that they would overrun the fortress easily. The more experienced knights were doubtful but said little.

Elisabeth had expected the desolation of unending desert once outside the immediate environs of Constantinople. Instead she beheld wide grasslands on either side of her as she rode. It was beautiful, if strange to her eyes more accustomed to dense German forests. The distant hills were gently rounded and dotted with clumps of trees. The higher hills were sometimes completely forested. Sheep grazed in peace until they were in Seljuk territory. Then the grasslands, though they obviously were used as pasture, were empty. The people who lived in the small mean villages had advance warning of the pilgrims' approach. The livestock was concealed in unseen glens. All but the oldest women were also missing. Eyes both hostile and curious followed the horde as they traveled to Ancyra.

Elisabeth felt both excitement and dread as the first sight of the walls of the city appeared over the horizon. It took her mind off the pain of parting so soon from Maliha and Tacetin. It was, however, her first battle. Like any other soldier or knight, she was aware that her days on the earth might be few in number. She suddenly realized she did not know if her beloved was Christian or Muslim. She prayed the former was the case, so at least they would be reunited in Heaven. Then it occurred to her that while she herself might be forgiven everything for making her way to Jerusalem, the Almighty might not be so sanguine about Maliha's part in their illicit lovemaking. Her fear grew more intense as the consequences overtook her imagination.

With the hundreds of other knights she pressed toward the command tents the leaders of the force occupied at the encampment thrown up out of arrow's reach of the battlements of Ancyra. Though she was unable to get close enough to hear what they discussed, others passed back at least reasonably credible versions of what those who could hear told the rows of men behind them. Hearing that the commanders were surprised to see few men on the palisades she peered up at them, her hand shading her eyes. She could pick out individual figures in onion-shaped helms. She was unsure due to her inexperience how many she should see, but it seemed few. They stalked about their fortifications carrying their spears upright.

Saint Gilles, still vexed at the change of plans, nevertheless dominated the discussion of strategy. It was to be an all-out assault, unless, of course, the garrison rode out to attack. No one seemed to think that likely. Even if it was fully garrisoned, the pilgrims outnumbered them at least three to one, including Tsitsis's mercenaries. If no reinforcements came from Kilij Arslan, self-styled Sultan of the Seljuk, this stronghold would certainly soon be back in the hands of the Emperor.

Nothing had changed when, not long after, Elisabeth found herself fully armored and fully armed in one line of pilgrim knights. She thought she saw Gerhardt's and Black Beast's mounts, one in the line to her fore and one in her own line. Alain must be in here somewhere, but the mercenaries with Ranulf were no doubt each with their respective troops, swordsmen Ranulf and Ragnar and pike man Ruggiero with the infantry, Thomas with the crossbowmen.

Elisabeth knew that the two weapons implicit in siege warfare were intimidation and starvation. Neither seemed likely to have an impact with Ancyra. However frightening the horde of pilgrims, militant and otherwise, might appear to the occupants, it did not take eagle eyes to see that they were utterly without siege engines. Without something to smash through stone walls, all they had to shoot at the wall were crossbow bolts.

Starvation was left, but she wondered now if that would be the proverbial two-edged sword. No longer in Byzantine territory the pilgrims' own access to supplies was limited. She thought of the packet of dried bread and lentil paste she carried in her saddle bag, so lovingly prepared and packed by Maliha's hands. The force had provisions, but for how long? The countryside was rich with crops, undisturbed as of yet by the Turkish armies. Foraging parties would find the food and livestock hidden by farmers and villagers eventually, but it would run out just as surely.

There was a shout from a distance. Her eyes shot to the battlements. If it had come from any of the men there, now running to the south ramparts, she could not interpret the meaning. Then she heard a chorus of shouts nearer the ground, and she learned one way a siege becomes a pitched battle.

The Pecheneg were deployed nearer the city walls on the south. Elisabeth could see that they were, as a mass, riding full tilt toward a stream of horsemen and men on foot that appeared to be spilling from that side of the town. Even from this distance she could see they were Turks. The colors, the armor, the trappings of the horses told the story. Faced with the might of the pilgrims and the prospect of unendurable hardship, or perhaps in an attempt to leave a doomed city and join their Sultan in a more honorable contest, the armed men of Ancyra were making a run for it. She looked from side to side to learn what the commanders would do.

Conrad rode forward and with one raised arm, sword in hand, signaled, "Advance!" Gauner, though drawn to chase the horse's tail in front of him, waited for his knight's command. At last, the work he was trained to do. That she had made her brother teach her as well. With a lump in her throat, she drew her sword, joined the battle cry, and rushed forward to chase the deserters.

The Pecheneg were already on them by the time she and those in her column overtook the runners. They cut them down to a man. The horses negotiated the bloody bodies scattered about. The mercenaries from north of the Black Sea paused very little in their chase during the slaughter and poured down on the hindmost Turkish cavalry moments later. Some of the mounted Turks turned to face the attackers while others sped forward. Tzitas waved his men onward, leaving the pilgrim knights to face those who sacrificed so they had a chance to escape.

Elisabeth braced herself, angling her body forward and down toward Gauner's neck. She kept her eyes on the men in onion helms and watched as the first line of knights crashed into them. Some of the knights held lances, and those they opposed went down with futile slashes of their swords against the long weapons. Only a heartbeat later, Gauner's forward rush hurled her toward one man in chain mail just like her own but with a hood that covered all of his face but his eyes under his helm. He was on a nervous horse that seemed as intent on Gauner's huge bulk and fiery eyes as the Turk was on her, his enemy.

She had learned well. She watched his eyes, not his sword arm, and saw instantly what he meant to do. It was straightforward, nothing fancy, simply a slice down to dislodge her own weapon from her gauntleted fist. She tapped her horse's flank with one foot, and he swerved to the left just enough to distract the Turk. With a wild backhand she swung as she passed, catching the man on the back of his sword arm, driving it forward and loosing his grip. The sword flew up and over the horse's head to land somewhere on the other side. The Turk screamed in pain and rage. As they both turned their mounts to come together once more, she saw the man's fierce eyes and marveled at how little fear she saw in them. She heard him cry out the name of his God as he rode directly at her. He now threw his horse to cross her path with its body.

His intention was to cause her to swerve again so she would be unbalanced as they passed so he could crush her skull with the mace he had pulled from somewhere about his person. Instead of swerving she pulled back on Gauner's reins and kicked him forward, causing him to jump and kick to the front and rear at the same time that he stopped. She heard the snaps as the full force of Gauner's kick broke the Turk's leg and his horse's ribs. As Gauner hit the ground he turned slightly and kicked again at the falling horse's head just as he had been trained. His rear hooves also struck the Turk who had come around the man she was fighting to close on her from behind. Gauner must have sensed him just in time to defend them both as their foes, front and rear, fell in pain, blood, and screams. She settled Gauner after a couple more kicks, which was just enough time for the second man to slip off his dying horse and charge the two or three steps toward her, swinging with his sword at her waist. Instinctively she brought her sword point into his eyes and he impaled himself on it as it blocked the blow he had aimed.

Her first kills in battle, only her second and third ever. It had gone just as Elias taught her, with Black Beast's tireless tutelage adding the rote reaction she needed to develop. She did not have time to consider the significance, however, as another Turk with a pike shot toward her. The man was covered in blood, whether his own or a pilgrim knight's she could not know. She danced Gauner sideways to escape the path of the pike whose point drilled directly to her chest. As he passed her she saw a mace swung at the Turk's head, its deadly points smashing and piercing the gleaming helm. It was Black Beast, roaring as he came down on his victim. The man fell from his horse, which panicked as he hung from where he was caught in part of the saddle. It sidled away in fright. The Turk's body shook loose and thudded to the ground. Black Beast whirled his horse, rode to the Turk's mount, and claimed its reins.

She recognized his right to take the prize and remembered her own kills. She looked around, peering as best she could from the eyeholes of her helm, and saw that the battle was over. Even up ahead the Pecheneg milled about the dead, prodding bodies with their weapons. Some hopped down from their horses and started to remove armor, swords, anything they could take from the dead. Some held the leads of two or three horses.

She realized that by killing both of her opponents' horses she had no prize. She looked back at Black Beast who dismounted and started to rifle the dead just as the Pecheneg were doing. He reached up to hand her both of his horses' reins. "Hold these for me, will you?" he asked, his voice hoarser than ever from screaming war cries.

She took the reins and watched as he removed everything but the helm from the dead man's body. He kicked the helm so that it came off the man's head and skittered, bouncing, away over the other bodies. The head underneath was dented and bloody from where the mace's sharp steel thorns had crushed his skull. The Beast moved to another body. He looked up and growled very much like a beast when another pilgrim tried to assert his own claims. The man backed away for easier booty. Now that the deafening screams and cries of battle were silenced, she could hear the boasts of other knights intermingled with moans from the wounded and dying. The man Black Beast was searching made a sound. "Not dead, you bastard?" the big man said and took his heavily booted foot and stomped down hard on the man's throat. The moans stopped.

Albrecht found her as Elisabeth rode exhausted and in shock toward the city. Its gates were wide open and pilgrims of all types streamed through the gap. Some knights on horseback attempted to control the mob, with some success. Once the people were inside, however, they seemed to dash every which way.

Her squire road up alongside her. "Are you all right?"

She reached up and pulled off her helm and pushed back her hood. Her dark hair was plastered to her head with sweat. She nodded. "No prize, though."

Albrecht smiled grimly. "You made a kill?"

Her eyes vacant, she looked at him. "Yes, two, for Elias." Her eyes shut, and then opened more focused. "They ran. They left their people and ran."

He shrugged. "Not much other choice. It was that or get captured and tortured or savaged."

"They left their families to face that instead." Her disgust showed on her face.

"No, I don't think so. I think Raymond will be merciful. They will give the city back to Alexios, as intact as possible. What happens later when we are gone and he decides what to do with the Muslims . . . that I don't know. Cast them out, I suppose."

She grimaced. "If they are lucky." Her hands flew across her chest as she made the sign of the cross.