Beloved Pilgrim

A young noblewoman finds herself when she dons men's armor and goes to the crusades, only to find love in the arms of another woman.

Chapter One

God Wills It

With a loud crack the sword came down onto a helm already knocked askew by an earlier blow. The helm flew off and the wearer staggered and nearly lost his feet.

"Ho, valiantly done!" the fifteen-year-old Elisabeth von Winterkirche called from her perch on the wooden fence.

Her twin brother Elias made a mock bow. "I thank you, my lady."

"You always take his side," the other boy, Albrecht, who, like Elias, was squire to Sigismund von Winterkirche, the twins' father.

"He's a better fighter than you are," she stated emphatically.

"And better looking, too," Elias quipped. He preened, stroking the barest shadow of beard growing on his chin.

"I will concede that point," the shorter, darker boy said. Elias looked up at him with that funny knowing smile that irritated his sister so. It just did not seem to fit.

Albrecht leaned to pick up his helm and put it back on his head. "If this damned thing had straps, it wouldn't come off so easily."

Elias let out a bark of derisive laughter. "Oh, is that why I keep knocking it off. It's not my mighty and well-delivered blows. It's the lack of straps." He lifted his chin and waved his fingers at his own throat. "Look, no straps here either. But my helm is sitting securely on my head."

Albrecht muttered something that made Elisabeth burst out laughing.

"What did he say?" her brother demanded.

"He said your swelled head fills it so much it is stuck," she explained.

Elias took a stance with his wooden sword tilted up from his right side. "Have at me, varlet. I shall not brook such ignoble insults!"

The two hefted their small shields and began to move in a counterclockwise circle, each looking for openings in the other boy's defenses. Elisabeth, unlike most girls, did not watch the practice fighting for her own entertainment. She watched each move while imagining herself in combat, detecting as best she could what each opponent was trying to do, what might work better, and what she would try given the chance. Those chances did come, for the twins had been each other's only companion through their father's absences and mother's frequent illness. Only when Albrecht came to serve at Winterkirche did Elias have anyone else to practice fighting with him. She itched to get in on this fight, but contented herself for now just critiquing the boys' own moves.

Each had his practice sword up and held parallel to the upper edge of his shield. She had long known that a fighter had to keep his sword up above the level of his opponent's shield if he had any hope of striking a blow on anything but the shield. That was not without its utility, if one could deliver a hard enough blow to knock the shield askew. Elias and Albrecht knew each other's skills well enough not to waste effort on this move. They circled each other looking for a headshot.

Elias, the taller, repeatedly brought the sword swinging around to strike Albrecht's shoulder or head, but Albrecht managed over and over to raise his shield enough to block the blow or to meet sword with sword, resulting in the sharp thwack of the blows. Elias constantly pressed forward, making Albrecht retreat. Elisabeth pressed her lips tightly together with impatience. Elias's greatest flaw was that he was all forward motion, aggression, and not enough defense. If only Albrecht would use that against him. Elias got in some bruising blows on the shorter boy's right arm. Elisabeth mentally registered the point but the fighters did not pause.

"Oh, for God's sake," she finally cried, jumping down from the fence. "This is getting tedious. Let me fight him."

The boys stopped and stared at her. "Fight whom?" her brother asked.

"You, Elias. Albrecht just lets you chase him around the yard. Give me your weapon."

Albrecht looked at Elias. "Go ahead. She won't break anything," Elias said, rolling his eyes.

Elisabeth let Albrecht slip the shield onto her right arm, his helm on her head and finally hand her the wooden sword.

The siblings took their fighting stances. Elisabeth let Elias come forward, backing up as he fully expected she would. When he seemed to put all his force into the motion, she stopped retreating and came at him raining blows every place she could. He was startled at first, but regained his stability. He hauled off and gave her a bruising whack on the hip. She dropped to her knees but did not concede.

Elias grinned at her. He widened his stance and took a step forward. She lifted her sword as if to swing around and catch him right of his sword where one elbow had appeared. He laughed and moved so his shield was up and between them. She let her sword go back around and come up from below. His unprotected groin received all the might she could muster.

He staggered back his mouth wide open but no sound issuing forth. He collapsed to his knees, dropping his sword and shield. He put his leather gauntleted hands to his groin and toppled over sideways.

Elisabeth lifted her arms and crowed with triumph. She danced around in place, chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!" When she looked around again she saw Albrecht kneeling by her brother, his arms out at his sides at a loss how to help him.

"He'll live to suffer worse blows than that," came a deep male voice from behind her. She turned to look at Elias's and Albrecht's sword master, Dagobert. "Just let him lie there a bit, and give him small sips of this." He reached out a water skin to Albrecht. He turned to the girl. "Madam, you take advantage of how much he underestimates you. If you were not his sister, he would decimate you."

She scowled at him.

"And you put me in a difficult position. Your mother has begged me to discourage your interest in fighting." He looked at where Albrecht was helping Elias to sit up. "Speaking of your mother, she wants you both. She has had a messenger."

The twins found Adalberta in her solar. She sat in a window embrasure with her embroidery in her lap, her eyes closed and her head back against the frame of the window. She looked as drained as ever. For all her protests that she was feeling stronger, neither of her children could ever see evidence of it. She heard them come in and opened her eyes. She straightened and tried to make it look like she had been busily stitching. As little interest as Elisabeth had in such things, she could see there had been no progress on the altar cloth in at least two days.

"My darlings, I have the happiest of news! I have had word from your father. The Lombards have let the Imperial party cross their land. The four year exile is over!"

The joyful look on their mother's face was not feigned. The two young people hurried forward to kneel at her feet. "Oh, Mother, at long last!" Elisabeth gushed.

"I know it has been very hard on you, my dears, to be without your father. And Elias, I know you have taken it hard not to have the chance to leave home to squire in another household. I will never stop being grateful that you agreed to stay here with me, especially at first when I was so ill."

The twins managed to hide the shared knowledge that their mother had never in their memory been anything but ill. "Is father coming home soon?" the boy asked.

"He must go with the Emperor's army to Cologne, then he and his household knights and men will come south to us. In a few days, maybe more. But after all this time I think we can wait patiently."

Elisabeth pressed one of her mother's hands against her cheek. "Oh, no we can't," she laughed.

Elisabeth cursed like one of the grooms as she tugged the hem of her skirt from the bramble where it was caught. "Damn, if I could just wear britches like Elias and Albrecht I shouldn't have to deal with skirts!"

It was her constant refrain of late. "I wish I was a boy." Boys could learn to use weapons, boys could climb trees, boys could go off for hours and wander in the countryside, and boys did not have to sit still in Mother's solar and learn excruciatingly dull needlework.

She knew her twin brother, Elias, was not far. He and his fellow squire, Albrecht, had given her the slip earlier that afternoon and gone off with their bows to their favorite patch of woods. Elisabeth was becoming weary of this phase in Elias's life. For months she had found her brother spending more and more time with his friend and leaving her behind. Her mother told her it was natural, and that soon she would be more interested in ladies' concerns as her brother was in men's. "Balls," she muttered under her breath, delighted at her own audacity.

Now she thought, "Serve him right if he misses Father's homecoming. He knew Father's party was expected today. Where is he?" she wondered as she pushed her way through the scrub.

As she rounded the edge of a small coppice of trees, she thought she saw movement. "There they are!" She slowed her progress, wanting to surprise her brother and his friend.

A yelp meant that whoever was chasing whom had caught him. Probably it was Elias, the taller and older, by a year, of Father's two squires. She stepped forward to make herself known. She froze.

It was indeed Elias who had caught his friend. He had the boy with his tangle of brown curls pressed up against the trunk of a tree, his own hands on either side of his shoulders trapping him. It was what Elias was doing now that rooted Elisabeth to the spot. He leaned slowly forward, bringing his face down to the smiling Albrecht's, and he kissed him. Kissed him! He kissed him on the mouth, and Albrecht responded. The captive reached up his own arms and put them around the taller boy's body and they melted together in an embrace that communicated it somehow right to Elisabeth's belly.

Taking one step backward at a time, the girl put the coppice between herself and the boys. Conflicting impulses assailed her. She wanted to turn and run all the way back to the manor. She wanted to burst in on them and demand an explanation. She followed another impulse instead, walking quietly to the spot by the brook where she sat on her favorite boulder. Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her chin to rest on them.

What were Elias and Albrecht doing? She knew perfectly well what. She just had not realized boys would do that with each other.

The twins, Elias and Elisabeth, had been inseparable until three years ago when Albrecht von Langenzenn had come to Winterkirche from his own family's manor to become a knight-in-training as Sigismund of Winterkirche's squire. It was then, Elisabeth now realized, that the bond between the twins had loosened. Though the three children were friends, she became aware of a special new bond between the boys. She complained to her mother about it. Adalberta stroked her soft brown hair and assured her that Elias was of an age where he needed companions of his own sex. A pouting Elisabeth nevertheless said nothing to her brother that she felt abandoned.

Sitting on the rock the girl stared unseeing at the brook as it flowed tumbling over fallen branches and the stones of its streambed. Should she tell Mother about what she saw? Her innate loyalty to her twin above all others caused her to say "No!" aloud to the brook, the trees, and the birds around her. But wasn't it a sin? Were you not supposed to get married before you kissed anyone like that, and if so, how could two boys get married? She had never heard of such a thing. Should she say something to Elias himself? He would explain it to her. He was so kind and so wise. He would make it all right.

A shrill blast of a horn made Elisabeth look up and turned her head toward the manor. Father! It was Father, back from his journey to see Emperor Henry. She leaped to her feet and ran nearly to where she had spied on the two squires. Taking careful steps so as not to surprise the boys, whom she could not see but could hear giggling, she shouted, "Elias! Father is home!"

Not waiting for her brother and his friend to join her, she turned and dashed back toward the walled compound that was the Knight Sigismund's. Normally she would have made for an open wicket in the gate, but the two halves of the stout wooden barrier stood wide open now that the horses and men were trailing in. She slipped by the last stragglers into the courtyard. It was indeed her father, just now walking his horse to where grooms stood ready to take his reins. Mother stood in the doorway to the hall with her tired smile offered for her beloved husband.

"Papa! Papa!" Elisabeth cried, dashing up to join Sigismund as, dismounting, he went to his lady and returned her smile. He turned his head to see Elisabeth's bright face at his elbow. "Liebchen, darling, look at you. Every time I see you, you are taller! And prettier!"

He threw one arm around her shoulders and the other around his wife's. "Where is Elias?" he asked, drawing both of them up the stone steps to the hall.

"He's coming," his daughter replied, the excitement of her father's return banishing any other thoughts from her mind.

Sigismund did not hear her reply, as he was speaking excitedly to his wife as they entered the high-raftered room.

"His name is Peter the Hermit, a priest from Amiens, my dear, and I cannot wait to tell you what he said."

"Child!" It was the serving-woman, Marta, who appeared and beckoned to Elisabeth. "For shame, to greet your lord father with your gown all in a mess! Come here!"

Elisabeth stopped and shook her head. "But . . . ," she protested.

"You have plenty of time to hear your father's news, whatever it may be. Do you not want to look your best for him? I mean, look at your mother, so lovely, so groomed. You look like a cotter's brat."

Letting the woman draw her away, Elisabeth looked back at her parents. Indeed, Adalberta was lovely. Wan and sickly as she was, she nevertheless was dressed immaculately and glowed with pleasure as she went to the table by the fire, her arm tucked in her husband's.

A movement nearer the door caught the girl's attention. "Marta, look at Elias. He is all over leaves and sticks and mud. Why do you not chastise him?"

"He's a boy. He is supposed to roughhouse. Now come."

Elisabeth sulked. There it was again. How she wished she were a boy.

Scrubbed, dressed in a more grown-up gown, her braids brushed and plaited again and coiled on either side of her head, Elisabeth was finally permitted to join her parents in the hall. Her sulk disappeared when, seeing her, Sigismund called out "Darling girl!" He stood and bent, his arms out to enfold her in his embrace. When she stopped before him, he had to straighten up. "I said it before. You are getting so tall! Tall as your brother, I'll warrant. Here, Elias, come stand here by your sister. Yes, look at this, my wife. They are almost of a height."

The twins stood before their father. Elias was a respectable height for a boy of fifteen, but Elisabeth, hardly any shorter, was over-tall for a girl. They could, of course, not be identical twins, but to look at them you would say they may as well be. Elias's hair, the exact color as his sister's, a light brown, was cropped while hers was coiled in braids. Their dark brown eyes and rich eyelashes were the same. Their noses were small, too small for a boy, just right for a girl, and both had high, sculpted cheekbones and large square jaws. Elisabeth saw that Elias was starting to show some fuzz on his chin, and she was green with envy.

"Now you two, come sit with your mother and me. You as well, Albrecht. This concerns you too." Sigismund returned to his own chair next to Adalberta. The three young people took seats usually reserved for guests. Elias and Albrecht normally served at table, being squires, and Elisabeth stood behind her mother during meals to see to her needs.

"His Holiness has had a plea from the Byzantine Emperor Alexios," Father was saying. "There have been attacks on pilgrims to the Holy Land, hundreds killed, hundreds carried off to the slave markets. The Paynim no longer protect the pilgrimage routes, but let brigands have a free hand. There are rumors that some of the Turk leaders are sending their own guards to attack larger bands of pilgrims."

Adalberta put her hand to her lips, "No, how horrible. Why?"

The three young people turned their eyes back to Sigismund in unison.

"Well, there have always been brigands, but they have attacked randomly. Pilgrim bands that hired armed men to protect them could turn brigands away. No one really knows why that has changed, but Peter the Hermit said . . . "

Elias interrupted his father. "Peter the Hermit?" Elisabeth noted not for the first time how deep his voice had become.

"A French priest. He is in Cologne to gather pilgrims for a journey to the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem," Sigismund said.

"Not much of a hermit, is he?" Elias quipped, earning a short laugh from his sister and a glare from both parents.

"Show some respect," Adalberta corrected. "He is a very holy man."

Sigismund took a gulp of the wine a servant had brought. His men, having seen to the disposition of their horses, were wandering into the hall and taking seats or leaning up against the timber walls to listen to their lord's account of the hermit's tale.

"He tried to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem before, but he was captured by the Seljuk Turks in Anatolia and tortured."

Adalberta's eyes grew round.

"Why?" asked her daughter.

Sigismund sat forward, shaking his head. "They are heathens. They are devils. Cruel and rapacious. They are the enemy of all good Christians."

"But a priest!" his wife cried unbelieving.

Albrecht shyly spoke up. "Mayhap they are even more violent with our holy men?"

The knight nodded. "It will seem so, lad."

Adalberta's eyes were guarded as she asked, "And this Peter . . . from Amiens, you say? He is gathering a multitude? To do what, my lord?" she asked.

"To return to the Holy Land and take Jerusalem back."

"He is gathering an army?" Elias's voice held a note of excitement. Elisabeth cast an alarmed look in his direction. Elias had been itching to be in a fight. He had been disappointed when their father had failed to take him and Albrecht to Cologne for the meeting with the Emperor's representatives. Both boys hoped the meeting was to plan war.

"No, not exactly," his father replied, noting Elias's crestfallen reaction. "He is calling it a People's Crusade. Just the poor, the destitute who are under the care of Holy Church. But to hear him speak! It was inspiring. He said, 'Deus lo volt.' God wills it. We could not help but shout it back to him, every one of us in the throng."

Elias leaned to Albrecht and whispered, "I would wager the local bishops would not be sorry to see their burden thus eased. . . . "

"Elias!" Sigismund's eyes were flaming. "Enough with your impious comments!" The knight glared at his chastened son, then slowly turned his face back to his wife. "Liebchen, I am going."

Adalberta hid her dismay. "I thought you might," was all she said.

"Then it is not just peasants going?" Elisabeth asked.

Her father sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. "They will need protection. Many of the Emperor's commanders and officers are asking for leave to go with them." He looked sharply back at his wife. "I shall not go, if you are ill and need me here." His eyes revealed his reluctance to make such a promise. In a gentle voice meant only for her ears he added, "But it is in large part to kneel at the Sepulcher and pray for your health and long life that I wish to go."

Before the lady could reply, Elias burst out, "Then Albrecht and I are coming with you?" He beamed at his friend, who returned the smile, but with anxiety written on his face.

Elisabeth looked from her father to brother to Albrecht and back again. A glance at her mother's averted face told her Adalberta would not hold her husband back, no matter her misgivings. Tentatively the girl inserted, "Mother has been very weak of late."

"Nonsense, girl. It's just the season. You know how tired I get in the winter." Adalberta shook her head almost imperceptibly at her daughter, begging her not to say more. "It is March. With the spring I will grow strong again."

She continued to watch her mother as the men talked excitedly of their upcoming adventure.

Elisabeth gazed at her mother. Adalberta del Luzio of Lombardy had never been strong, and the midwife told her that giving birth to her twins had weakened her further. The children, as they grew, were used to a mother who did not stir much from the manor, staying quiet and taking to her bed often. The twins were each other's support, as Sigismund was often away in one of the Holy Roman Emperor's frequent wrangling battles with the Pope. Elisabeth spent all the time she could with her brother, playing at boys' games, ultimately begging him to impart all he learned from his weapons master when they were old enough for Elias to be trained. Their mother tried to teach the girl the feminine arts of needlework and to instruct her in seemly comportment, but the moment the ailing woman took to her chambers, Elisabeth was out like a shot looking for her twin and diligently mastering every masculine skill he gained.

They were accustomed to their mother's retiring life, but Elisabeth thought her mother had become paler of late. She had frequent debilitating headaches. Her joints were swollen and tender. During the occasional periods when Sigismund was not off serving his Emperor, Adalberta masqueraded as best she could.

Looking at her now, her daughter could see she was lagging. Adalberta leaned to whisper in her husband's ear. He looked at her sharply, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. "Are you sure? Are you well enough?"

Adalberta deftly feigned enthusiasm. "I am, my lord, and it has been some time."

Sigismund grinned delightedly. To the company in the hall he proclaimed, "I and my lady are tired and wish to seek our bed for a nap." He looked down when a few suggestive comments came from his men. "My love, go on up to our chamber. I would speak with our daughter." He kissed his wife on the cheek as she rose and made her way to the stairs.

He watched his wife's retreating figure, then gestured to his daughter. "My dear, I have some excellent tidings for you. Come with me."

Elisabeth was already focused on her father, wondering what it was he had to tell her. Now she stood, exchanged puzzled looks with her twin brother, and followed their father to where he stopped near the foot of the stairs Adalberta had mounted. "Yes, Papa?" she asked.

Sigismund hesitated, unsure how his daughter would take the news he had brought her. "Liebchen, you are almost sixteen now, a woman. Your mother and I have neglected plans for your future."

Elisabeth eyed him warily.

"I have betrothed you to a fine man, a Freiherr of the Duke of Bavaria, I think you know him."

Elisabeth's face went white. "Oh no, Papa, please! I do not wish to marry."

Resigned, Sigismund looked sternly into the girl's eyes. "But you must. Unless of course, you wish to take the veil. I did not think so," he went on when she recoiled at the suggestion. "You will need a home and children like any other woman, and I have chosen a man of noble blood and excellent reputation who will provide for you and protect you."

Elisabeth stared, unbelieving. "Wh-who?"

"The Baron Reinhardt von Linkshändig. You remember some years ago when he came here?"

"B-but I thought he was married!" she stammered.

Sigismund put an arm around her and looked at the rushes on the floor. "He was. He lost his wife in childbed. Actually, both of his wives. He is twice a widower." He raised his head to look compassionately into her eyes. "My darling, he is a good man, a great knight and loyal subject of the Emperor. He is going on the pilgrimage with me. Now promise you will think about this, pray about it, and see the wisdom in it. Your brother will marry and his wife will not want a spinster sister about. And you will want a household of your own. You know that's true."

Elisabeth nodded dumbly. "Yes, Papa."

"You will be married before we set out."

To Elisabeth his words sounded like a death knell.

The household plunged into activity at once. Despite anxiety for his wife, Sigismund could not hide his anticipation. Elias and Albrecht did not even try.

Elisabeth found herself left out of the boys' preparations. She could only stand on the periphery and watch glumly as the three men in her life spent every waking moment arranging to leave her behind and to a fate she could not comprehend. She realized how much more her mother must dread this parting. Though they had rarely talked, mother to daughter, she sought her out and confided.

"Mama, how will we bear it?" she sighed while the two sat together in Adalberta's solar.

The older woman put a comforting hand on her daughter's supple one. "That is our lot, my dear. Women wait while men go abroad."

"Men are so selfish!" Elisabeth could not restrain her outburst.

Her mother shook her head. "Nay, it is not selfishness. It is duty. Theirs is to obey their masters. Ours is to obey them."

"I don't understand why it has to be like that. Peasant men and women work together in almost everything. I have seen them, side by side in the fields, planting or harvesting. Why can we not do the same? And why do they have to go to war anyway? It seems to me that life would be so much better without going to war." The girl's face held a petulant sort of challenge.

Sighing, her mother shook her head. "I have failed you, my daughter, and for that I am most heartily sorry. I have not spent the time with you that I should. You spend all your time in your brother's company, never learning what it is to be a woman. I hoped Marta would fill my place, but she is even more indulgent than I." Reaching to cradle her daughter's chin in her palm, she drew Elisabeth's reluctant eyes to her own. "Perhaps it is best if my lord does go to the Holy Land and prays for my health. Perhaps it is not too late for me to spend the time with you I have neglected. There is so much you have to learn before you are wed."

Fear clouded Elisabeth's eyes. "And that is another thing! I hardly know Reinhardt. What I do remember I did not like."

"He is strong and can provide for you and your children. He is an honorable man you can be proud of." She let go her daughter's chin. "It is for the best."

Elisabeth stood and stepped stiffly to the window embrasure. "I shan't need to be provided for. I will die giving birth to his brats just like his other wives. That's all women are for. To have babies then die." Her thoughtless words hit her like a slap. She whirled to face her mother. "Oh, my dearest Mama, I am so sorry! I did not mean . . . "

Adalberta shook her head compassionately. "I know you did not mean to hurt my feelings. And truly, darling, I understand your fear. You cannot know the joys that make it all worthwhile. The companionship of your husband, the satisfaction of running your household, and, most of all, the love for your children." She put out her thin arms to her daughter who went to her, knelt, and leaned into the embrace.

"You have Papa. He loves you. That is why you endure it all."

Pressing Elisabeth's head to her breast, she reassured, "Your Papa and I love each other very much, and it is true. But we did not even know each other when we were wed. Love came over time. And from our union came you and your brother. Just think, if I had thought like you do now, none of that could have ever come about."

The girl nodded her head against her mother's body. "I don't understand how Papa can go and leave you suffering."

"It is because I am suffering that he is going!"

Looking up at her mother's strained expression, Elisabeth shook her head. "I know that, Mama, but it is more. He wants to go. Almost as much as Elias and Albrecht. Why do they want to go and leave us behind?"

The knight's wife pulled her daughter up so she would sit beside her on the settle. Putting her arm around the girl's waist she chuckled. "I think you know why the boys want to go. As for your father." She paused. "Let me see if I can explain it. Your father was ever a loyal man to Emperor Henry, in spite of the great man's petty quarrels with the Holy Father. Over the years he has become disillusioned. He says that he now believes that the Emperor has used the disputes simply for his own arrogant purposes." She leaned her head on her daughter's. "You know your father is a brave and honorable knight. He needs to turn his energies to a worthy cause. He needs . . . redemption."

Elisabeth subsided. "I know, Mama. But I will miss them all. And I will worry as well."

"As will I, dearest. As will I." She lifted her head and leaned to look into Elisabeth's face. "But think of it, liebchen, we have a wedding to plan! Is that not exciting too?"

Without conviction, the young girl answered, "Yes, Mama."

Yes, Elisabeth felt left out of everything that involved her brother and his friend. They were almost giddy with the preparations, the bond that had developed between them magnified by the prospect.

Natural, her mother had said, and no doubt she was right. But there was more. She could feel it, but she could not put words to her feeling. There was a bond between her brother and the squire that went beyond comradeship. She chided herself for her jealousy. She knew perfectly well that she and Elias, as close as they always had been, would someday separate. She would marry the baron, or some other man, and Elias would wed and become the Ritter of Winterkirche. Perhaps that was all it was. She was anticipating the separation especially now that the pilgrimage hastened it.

Try as she might however she could not shake the sense that something she could not be part of was developing. She again thought to talk with her mother about it, but an intuition told her this would be a betrayal of the trust she and Elias shared. She was uncertain why that would be, but she was no less sure.

As she watched the boys, Elisabeth started to notice things. Looks. Touches. Intimate smiles. She ventured to tease Elias into explaining. "I swear, Elias, I might think Albrecht is your brother, or maybe more than that." She meant nothing but to elicit a reaction, and she got it.

Elias's face went pale and his eyes slid away from hers. "W-what do you mean?"

Startled, Elisabeth laughed. "Oh nothing. Just that you are so tight. I begin to wonder if you have forgotten all about me."

Elias heard the appeal in her voice. "Oh my dear sister, never fear that. You are my one and only, my twin. No one, not a . . . friend . . . or a bride . . . or anyone else could ever sever our ties." He put a gentle palm on her cheek. He looked tenderly into her face. "Albrecht and I just have so much planning to do."

Though his tone lacked complete conviction, she smiled her reassurance. "Oh, Elias, I do understand. I think I am just jealous of the excitement. I want to go with you."

A twinkle in his eye, Elias leaned confidentially to her. "I can tell you, I wish you were too. I don't want to leave you behind. But that is the way the world works."

She pouted, making him laugh. "It's not fair."

An hour later she saw Elias and Albrecht together, deep in some private conversation. Elias was speaking, and Albrecht's face blanched. He looked about furtively, then back, earnestly, at Elias. He seemed to ask something, looking as if he feared the answer. Elias shook his head, causing the dark-haired boy to look relieved. The two boys glanced about and walked in opposite directions.

Elisabeth needed more than ever to speak to someone. Who was there? A thought came to her. Magdalena, the woman who lived in a hut in the woods. She lived like a nun, though she was of no particular order. Some called her a saint, some a witch, but most simply brought her what they could of their own food and discarded clothing, respecting her wish to be alone.

Approaching the simple hut, no more than rough wood planks with a turf roof, Elisabeth could hear the woman somewhere outside singing a hymn. There was a drumming sound that she identified as churning. People brought big jugs of milk, which the woman turned into butter or pot cheese for them, freeing them for other work. The girl hurried forward and around the hut to see the woman at work.

"Magdalena!"

The woman looked up from her task. Her clothes were others' castoffs, often patched and patched again. Her hair was tied up in a cloth, but it need not have been, for she kept her hair shorn almost to the root. Her smile lit her plain face as she saw the girl. "Elisabeth, how pleasant to see you. Come, sit, and talk to me while I finish the butter."

This was far from the first visit that Elisabeth had made to the solitary woman. Anchorites were religious men and women who chose to keep to themselves to live in simplicity and prayer. Many walled themselves up in churches and accepted the charity of those who visited and who asked the anchorite for blessings. But not all entombed themselves. Some were little more than hermits, living away from society.

Elisabeth once asked the woman, whom she had found out here on one of the twins' meanderings why she did not like to be around people. The woman had chuckled and responded, tousling the girl's hair, "It is not that I do not want to be with people. It is that I want to be closer to God. Many people can do that in their own hearts. I have not that ability. I find I must have solitude and quiet. That is why I live out here."

To her child's mind, Elisabeth found this reasoning quite understandable. She accepted it, as did Elias, and they visited as often as they had things to bring the woman hermit from the manor and whenever they had questions or troubles they needed answers to.

"I hear that the men of the manor are preparing to go to the Holy Land," Magdalena stated as she resumed the pumping motion with the churn.

Sitting on a low stool that sat in the yard, Elisabeth nodded sadly. "Yes, they are. They are going to take back Jerusalem from the heathens."

Magdalena looked up and sideways. "They are going to war, then."

Elisabeth nodded.

"Are you afraid for Elias? For your father?"

Elisabeth's dark eyes were full of regret. "Yes, and Albrecht." She thought she saw some recognition in the woman's face. "You have met Albrecht haven't you?"

"Indeed, I have, a fine young man. Very devoted to your family."

Elisabeth let her gaze rest on the woman's face. "He and Elias are . . . well . . . very close."

One eyebrow lifted on the woman's face. "Yes, I have seen them together."

Elisabeth stood and meandered thoughtlessly about the yard, touching a fence post, clothes hung on a line, the windowsill of the hut. "One time . . ." she began.

Magdalena stopped churning. She wiped her hands on her makeshift apron and put them on her hips. She waited for the girl to speak.

Elisabeth glanced up when she realized she had every bit of Magdalena's attention. "Oh, I don't know. I saw something . . . it puzzled me."

The woman sighed. "Come sit with me in the shade. I think we need to talk."

Elisabeth's heart beat faster. Was it possible that this woman could explain the kiss, the looks, and the touches? She hesitated, then followed her over to where a crude bench rested under a linden tree. The woman patted the bench beside her, and the girl obediently sat.

Magdalena put her arm around Elisabeth's shoulders. "What did you see?"

Taking a very deep breath, Elisabeth whispered, "I saw them . . . kissing."

"Each other?"

Glancing sideways into the woman's face, the girl breathed, "Yes. Like the way they kiss girls. On the lips. And there was more."

The woman was quiet for a moment. "Where were they?"

"Up in the coppice by the waterfall. They did not know I saw them. But when I said something to Elias, just this morning, he seemed scared. He talked to Albrecht and then they both seemed scared."

Nodding, the woman asked, "Have you said anything to your parents?"

Shaking her head, Elisabeth replied, "No. Something told me I shouldn't."

A wan smile played on the woman's lips. "That is right. It is something Elias must do himself, but only if and when he chooses." She paused. "Elisabeth, you must not tell anyone, for Elias's sake. Few people will understand, they will think vile things. They might want to hurt Elias and Albrecht."

"Why?" Elisabeth's voice trembled.

"Elias and Albrecht love each other. Just as your mother and father do. Just as I . . . " Magdalena's voice faded out. "Just as I did once. Just as you will love someone someday."

Elisabeth stared at her. "But they are both boys."

"That does not matter. Love is love. You do not choose with whom you will share it. Love chooses you . . . and the other."

The girl looked down at the ground beside the bench. "But they can't get married, can they? It would be a sin."

A small chuckle from Magdalena surprised the girl into looking up at her again. "God did not create sin, my dear," she said warmly. "Men created sin. They also created the Church to tell people about it, and to punish those who did it."

"Will Elias be punished?"

"Heaven forefend, I hope not. That's why you must not tell anyone. I don't think Elias need worry. He is of too grand a family. But Albrecht . . . he is of a humbler station, is he not?"

"He is." Elisabeth pondered. "So it is not a sin for a man to love a man? Like that, I mean?"

"Love, real love, is never sin," Magdalena stated firmly.

The girl sat on, thinking about all the ramifications of what she had just learned. "So Elias could never love a woman?"

Magdalena chided, "Not necessarily. Men . . . like your brother . . . sometimes, even often, marry women. They do it for many reasons, because they are expected to, to produce heirs. Because they think they can change or at least hide their truer nature. Or they think they will get the woman's lands and still be able to keep their lover. It is not good to marry someone you don't love, but it happens all the time."

"I know. It is going to happen to me." Elisabeth's lips twisted in a grimace. "Reinhardt. I will never love him."

Magdalena squeezed her against her side. "You don't know that. But I will ask God to look after you and take care of you, no matter what happens."

"I wish I could go with Elias. To the Holy Land, I mean. Men get to do whatever they want. It's not fair."

"Oh, women can do whatever they want. They just usually don't want to give up what they must for it."

When Elisabeth looked at Magdalena, the woman was smiling. "What do you mean? I want to go to the Holy Land. But there's no chance I could go. They wouldn't let me."

The woman shrugged. "If you really wanted to go, you would find a way. Perhaps you will find a way." She laughed aloud at the girl's shocked face, crinkling her eyes and throwing her head back in merriment. "I wish you could see your face! You would think I just told you to sprout wings and fly." She thought to herself, "Perhaps I just have."

Elisabeth's thoughts were awhirl. She could not slow them down long enough to make sense of them. She sighed.

Chapter Two ~ Husbands and Wives

As much as Elisabeth dreaded her brother's departure for the Holy Land, there was an element of relief knowing she would not have to bear his relationship with Albrecht for much longer. There was a great deal to think about. She so trusted her twin that disapproval was of little import, at least disapproval of what he and Albrecht were doing when they were alone together. Two things troubled her, one being her sense of being irrevocably pushed out of her brother's heart, and the other her resentment that he had not shared any of this revelation about his love for Albrecht with her. She struggled with whether she must break through whatever held him back before they left or let him go and worry about that when he returned.

Then came a greater concern for them all. Her mother did not improve with the passing of the winter, but grew weaker. She seemed to lose her balance. She dropped things. She took to her bed with frequent headaches.

Elisabeth overheard a conversation between her parents where her father earnestly averred to delay his departure or even cancel his plans. Her mother protested vehemently.

"My lord, please do not. 'Tis but a temporary thing. I shall be well again shortly."

"Nay, my love. I cannot leave you in this state. And what's more I cannot leave our children to bear you up alone. Do not argue with me, dearest."

Her mother hesitated, and then Elisabeth heard her concession. "A delay, yes, that is all. You will see that I am right in no time. Then you will be able to catch up with your friends on their way to the Holy Land."

Elisabeth sighed with relief and went to tell Elias what she had heard.

She was not surprised to see the conflict in his face at the tidings. He chewed his lower lip. "Yes, it is best we delay," he replied with undisguised regret. His glance around she interpreted immediately. "I had better tell Albrecht as well."

Their household activity multiplied with an unwonted if expected distraction, as if the Lady Adalberta could manage all she had. The sound of horns announced the impending arrival of Reinhardt, Baron von Linkshändig, and his large party of knights and soldiers. As she stood in the courtyard with her parents and brother, Elisabeth, dressed in her best gown, realized how predisposed to resenting her intended she was. That she was about to become the man's wife was almost out of the range of credibility.

She heard her mother's groan when, following Reinhardt and his household knights, the horses and foot soldiers continued to stream through the manor gate for what felt like a half hour. She heard her mother call to Albrecht to run inside and warn that the household would have to feed and accommodate.

Reinhardt reined in his destrier before the noble family welcoming him. He saluted Sigismund, and then looked over at the twins. Elisabeth saw him frown as his eyes lit on her. She colored sharply and looked down, avoiding his gaze. Then hope leaped in her heart. "Maybe he will decide he doesn't want me!" she rejoiced silently. She felt Elias's supporting arm around her waist, and cast him a grateful look.

Reinhardt did not wait for the groom who pushed forward the mounting block but threw his leg over the destrier's armored head and slid to the ground deftly. He was older than Elisabeth remembered, and more comely. He stood by his mount for a moment, pushing his mail hood back and off his black hair. Gray eyes did not reflect his courteous smile. He went to Adalberta and took her hand in his to kiss it. He struck his booted heels together and said, "My lady, my thanks for your hospitality."

"You are most welcome, good sir, at any time. But on this joyous occasion of your wedding to my daughter Elisabeth, it is indeed a pleasure and an honor." She glanced over and beckoned to Elisabeth. "My dear, come greet your husband to be."

Elisabeth felt the squeeze Elias gave to her elbow as she stepped away from him to join her parents and the baron. She kept her eyes down fearing she would be unable to stop herself from bursting into tense laughter. It was all so unreal.

"My lady," came the rich baritone of the man she was to marry. "It is with humble gratitude that I hear you have accepted my offer of matrimony."

As he lifted her hand to his lips, she looked up surprised. Accepted his offer? As if she had any real choice. He looked up through dark thin lashes straight into her face. She saw his gaze jump from her own to her mouth, her braids, her throat, her flat bosom. He sighed so quietly only she heard it. It was not a sigh of pleasure.

"My lord, I welcome you to our home." Elisabeth found herself thinking, "And may you decide to stay in the Holy Land rather than return."

She stole glances at Reinhardt during the evening's repast, sitting between him and her father. The baron greeted the news that Sigismund would delay his own departure with little Grace. "I hope you do not expect me to remain behind while you perform your uxorious duty."

Sigismund gazed with approbation at the baron's remark, but he nevertheless reassured him. "My lady assures me that she be well directly, at which time I will leave. You say you are taking the western pass over the mountains?"

"Yes, to meet with the Frankish contingent. We will pass into the Italian Peninsula nearer Milan."

"Then perhaps I can use the eastern pass and meet you on the way to Calabria. It is shorter." He lifted one eyebrow at Reinhardt.

"Perhaps," was the baron's desultory response.

The two men spoke exclusively of the journey to come. Elias and Albrecht hung on every word they could catch as they waited on the high table at the top of the hall. Reinhardt grimaced at her brother, a fact that mystified Elisabeth. It did not seem to her that Elias was doing anything that was not respectful and proper.

"Your son," Reinhardt addressed her father. "He is coming with you to Palestine?"

"Yes, yes, and the other squire as well. I will knight my son before we leave, of course. He is the elder and well deserves it."

She caught the triumphant exchange of smiles between the two boys. Then glancing over saw Reinhardt suppress a frown. "I suppose he will need a squire of his own, then?"

Elias, interrupting the conversation at the high table broke in, "No, Father feels Albrecht may serve us both."

Reinhardt muttered, "Indeed?" but acknowledged it when Sigismund apologized for his overanxious son's lapse in manners.

"Our needs are not so onerous that the boy cannot take care of both. If it proves unworkable, I am sure there will be plenty of young men of squire's rank and training that I can take into my employ."

Reinhardt leveled cold gray eyes on his host. "You would let your son keep your current squire?"

"They are so good together. I should not want to break them apart."

A soft chuckle from Reinhardt made Elisabeth look at him sharply. He caught her gaze, reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. "You are such a loving family, my dear. You should make a most attentive mother."

Adalberta chimed in, "My daughter is an accomplished needle worker and has all the knowledge and skills she needs to conduct a sound household."

Elisabeth blushed scarlet and dropped her eyes. To her horror Reinhardt put his fingertips under her chin and raised her face to his. His thumb came up and brushed her lower lip. If she could have gotten any redder, she would have. "My dear Elisabeth, you are so young, so fresh. By the time we are returned to Bavaria from the Holy Land, laden with plunder, you shall have filled out into your full womanly form. Then you shall come to my castle to be its mistress."

Her heart sank. He still wanted her, in spite of his obvious disappointment in how she looked. He perhaps believed it was the slender awkwardness of girlhood. Who knows? He could be right. She was not sure whether she wanted him to be.

Adalberta touched her husband's arm. He looked back at her, and then seemed to remember something. "My lord, there is one thing my wife and I would like to discuss with you before your wedding."

"I should think the arrangements regarding dower and inheritance were clear enough," the baron responded curiously.

Sigismund looked uncomfortable. "We shall discuss it after the young people have left the table."

Reinhardt's lifted eyebrow stayed in place as he glanced over at Elisabeth. He began cautiously, "I imagine you wish to make something clear about the wedding night?"

Elisabeth was horrified. She could not recall a squeak of shock. Covering her face with both hands, she leaped from her seat and ran indecorously out of the hall.

Sigismund sighed. "We have not discussed this with the girl yet." Looking up at his son, he said, "Go to your sister, Elias. Calm her down."

Torn between his affection for her and intense curiosity he rose and followed her out of the hall into the courtyard.

Albrecht remained, fading into the flickering shadows to listen without being noticed.

In the courtyard Elias had found it impossible to calm his sister. She would neither speak to him nor look at him. He was relieved when Albrecht finally joined them where they sat on the mounting block.

"I think you will be pleased at what has been agreed upon, my lady," Albrecht said reassuringly.

Elisabeth lifted her tearstained face. "What?"

Albrecht glanced at Elias and grinned. "Your mother and father will not permit the marriage to be consummated until the baron returns from Palestine."

"They . . . they will not? And the baron agreed?" Elisabeth's relief was easy to hear in her voice.

"Well, he wasn't happy, but it was your dower and inheritance about which he worried. He was afraid they would renege on the agreement. He made them promise to stipulate that the lack of consummation did not allow for annulment."

"Why did they do it? My parents, I mean?" she asked.

"They said you were not ready to be a complete woman, and your mother said she did not want you burdened with his child not knowing if and when he would return."

Elias inquired, "And he went along with it?"

"So long as it does not jeopardize the transfer of your dower and property to him."

"That figures," Elias said sardonically. Turning back to his sister, he remarked irreverently, "Just think, you may be a widow before you are even deflowered."

Elisabeth chastised, "Elias!" and the three made the sign of the cross. But then she smiled.

As Elisabeth, relieved, left the boys to go to her rest, Albrecht held Elias back, saying, "There's something I have to tell you."

Elisabeth slowed her steps long enough to hear something about Reinhardt knowing the boy's secret. She heard Elias exclaim, "How can he? Don't be ridiculous. It is your imagining."

Over the few days before the wedding, Elisabeth had ample time to observe the man she was about to marry. He spent what time he did not spend talking with his knights and the commander of his foot soldiers looking about the manor and its surrounding lands. He asked her father's steward for a tour of the holdings. The only time she saw him smile was while in conversation with that same steward. The few times she caught him looking at her, she saw a mix of speculation and distaste on his thin lips. He sat stroking his pointed beard, just showing the tinge of gray in the black hairs under his lower lip, surveying her body, front and back.

"I am surprised he has not checked my teeth nor taken my ankle to examine my hoof," she confided to Elias.

Her brother laughed. "Darling Elli, he has done that, but to your lands, not your adorable person."

She looked at him, questioning. "But he cannot expect to get Papa's holdings! Those will go to you! You and your wife and children." Her voice trailed off. She had seen his slight reddening and his quick glance in Albrecht's direction.

He put on his usual cheery expression. "Ah, but I heard Father assuring him that you shall have the income from one-third of the revenue from the estate."

Elisabeth's mouth hung open. "Really?" He nodded. It was an unheard-of arrangement, making such a generous provision for a daughter.

Father Boniface, the household priest, conducted the mass and the bridal ceremony in the family's small church. Elisabeth told her brother and Albrecht she felt like one of those overdressed dolls her mother had brought from her own childhood home in Lombardy.

Elias took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her brow. "You are beautiful, sister. Simply beautiful. I even saw your betrothed giving you an appreciative look."

She pushed him away roughly. "I am not beautiful. Do not even say that. I am plain. I look more like a boy than you do." She saw his raised eyebrow and hurt look. "I don't mean you are girlish, Elias. Just that I am not."

His eyes grew serious. "Elisabeth, anyone who knows you knows you are beautiful in ways few women can boast. Your great heart, your wide smile and delighted laughter, your constancy and your loving nature. And you have a cute little nose."

She laughed and slapped at him. "Oh stop!"

At the banquet following the ceremony, the baron presented his new wife with rich gifts. He gave her bolts of fine soft wool in rich colors he said came from Flanders. He leaned to clasp a necklace of pale matched pearls around her throat and paused to look into her eyes as he withdrew. Hesitating, he leaned in again and gave her a kiss on her lips. She looked up at his eyes, her own round and disbelieving, while her fingers went to her lips.

He chuckled. "There will be many more and better to come, little wench. We have a dynasty to maintain."

Their wedding night was a formality. The two were conducted to a bedchamber where they were toasted. The company put them to bed together, fully clothed. They were allowed to remain thus overnight, but with a watchful maid and the candles burning. Elisabeth noted Reinhardt's resentful glare at Sigismund before the man left them alone.

Not long after and in spite of their watcher, Reinhardt arose and took off all but his shirt and britches. He gave her a grim look. "I am not going to be miserable all night. You do as you please."

She was frozen where she lay on the far side of the bed. "Suit yourself," her husband shrugged. He slipped under the covers and rolled onto his side to look at her. His head propped on his arm, he said, "I hope you will not be this frigid when we can truly become man and wife." He chuckled at her horrified look. "It does not matter. You are my wife, not my leman. You are for bearing children. You do not have to enjoy the act of begetting them. In fact, better you do not. I may like a wanton in my bed, but I do not want that wanton to be my wife."

He reached his other arm and put his hand on her breast. He stroked her up and down, all the way to her belly. She tensed and stared at him, afraid that he was going to do what he wanted in spite of his promise to her parents. The fear gave an edge to another feeling she was having. She felt tingly wherever he stroked. He chuckled as she started to fidget and laughed aloud when she made an incoherent protest and reached out and shoved him roughly away with the heels of her palms.

"You swine!" she spat at him. "Marta, get my father!"

"If she goes to get your father, that will leave us alone. Are you sure you want that? Maybe you do." He started to lean over her again.

Elisabeth managed an elbow into his solar plexus. He jumped back with a gasp. "My God, you pack a punch, girl!"

Marta was rising, making distressed noises, and turning to the door.

"Don't bother, bitch," Reinhardt said. "I'll leave her alone." He turned over and put his back to the seething girl. He leaned to say over his shoulder, "For now." He chuckled again, punched his pillow, and laid down his head.

Marta, wringing her hands, looked to Elisabeth. After a few moments, the girl nodded. "It's all right." She felt under her own pillow for her eating knife. She would not sleep a wink this night, waiting for Reinhardt to try something else. She sat up, putting the pillow behind her back, crossed her arms and glared at the man. Even when he was obviously asleep, she kept her watch.

"I am sorry you are not leaving with my party as I invited," the baron said flatly to Sigismund as he stepped onto the mounting block and mounted his horse.

As the baron and his party rode out of the gates, Elisabeth raised her eyes to watch them disappear. Elias stepped up to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. He whispered, "I never thought I would say this, but if one Saracen gets through our lines with his sword, I hope he makes one Christian kill."

Elisabeth let out a most unladylike snort.

Adalberta took to her bed that same night. She protested vainly that she was simply tired, but Sigismund's eyes as he watched her revealed deep concern.

Elias and Albrecht also watched, knowing that with each passing month their chance to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem was slipping away.

As the weakness did not abate and his wife found it harder and harder to hide that she was in pain, his eyes grew haunted. He chided himself for his delay in leaving on crusade. If he had gone early, he might have been at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher by now, praying fervently for his wife's recovery. It was thanks to his inexcusable delay that she now lay dying, moaning in pain, gasping with the agony.

Left to themselves the twins and their constant companion guiltily fled the manor to get away from the moans and cries and the helpless look on their father's face. They redoubled their practice at arms, and Elias forced the weapon master to teach his sister what he had taught him. When the man protested to Sigismund, the distracted lord just waved him away. "Do what the boy says. Just leave me alone."

One morning, the three made their way to Magdalena's isolated cottage, and Elisabeth begged her to come back to the manor and help her mother. She refused. "Oh my dear one, you know I cannot. I made a solemn vow never to leave this place."

Looking quickly at Elias Elisabeth urged, "Can we not bring Mother here?"

Her brother, whose eyes showed the weariness of lack of hope, shook his head. "Do you really want her to go through the pain of being brought here?"

Seeing Albrecht reach to put his hand on Elias's arm, Elisabeth's desperation turned into anger and resentment. "Oh, you two! Can't you keep your hands off each other?"

The shock showing on all three faces brought Elisabeth back to herself. "Oh, my dears, I am so sorry. I just . . . I don't know." She stood, covering her mouth with her hand. With a sob she dashed away.

"Let her go," the older woman said as Elias started to go after her.

He slowly turned and looked at her. "Does she know? About Albrecht and me?" At the woman's grave nod, he subsided. "How?" he asked.

"Does that matter?" the woman asked.

Elias shrugged. "What . . . how . . . does she feel? Does she hate me, us?"

"That is something you should speak with Elisabeth about, but I do not think so. She is confused. She feels like she has lost you, Elias."

He looked up sharply. "My love for Albrecht does not lessen my love for her!" he said firmly.

The woman smiled wanly. "You need to tell her that, show her that. Especially now with your mother dying."

The tall young man slumped, his face growing miserable and the tears starting to course down his cheeks. Albrecht put his arms tight around him. Elias started to sob as Albrecht held him.

They found Elisabeth in the practice yard swinging a sword with all her might.

"Leave me with her, won't you, my love?" Elias said quietly to Albrecht, who nodded, squeezed his arm and, head bowed, walked away.

Her brother watched her, seeing no let-up in the ferocity of her swings. "Elli!" he finally called. She did not stop, so he shouted, "Elli, hold!"

The young woman slowed her swings until her arms drooped at her sides, the sword point touching the dirt. She breathed heavily, the breaths coming out more and more like sobs. Elias advanced gradually to stand before her. "Is it safe?" he asked with his joking grin.

She looked up into his face, her eyes wide. "Oh you," she spat and shoved him in the chest with the heel of one hand.

"Apparently not!" her brother said as he pretended her shove almost knocked him off his feet. He held out his arms, and Elisabeth resignedly walked into them.

Shushing her as he pressed her face into his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her. "Elli, what I feel for Albrecht has nothing to do with how I feel for you. You are my sister, my twin. We are almost not two different people. You must know that." He felt her hesitant nod against the side of his neck. "I love you, Elli, more than I can say."

Her muffled words were nevertheless clear enough to him. "I love you too, Elias. I-I just do not understand. How did it happen?"

He sighed and shrugged. "I do not really know. It just did."

Looking up from his shoulder with red and puffy eyes, she asked, "When?"

He wiped a tear from her cheek. "When what?"

"When did you know . . . about loving Albrecht, I mean?"

He shrugged again. "Almost as soon as he came to live here, I suppose. I did not understand what I was feeling at first. I think he knew before I did. It's . . . I can't explain. I don't really want to explain." His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

She put her palm to his reddening cheek. "Shhh, shhh," she soothed. "You talked to Magdalena," she stated.

Elias nodded. He gave a rough laugh. "I thought I was going to burn in Hell for all eternity. She told us love is love, that God is love, and all that. I couldn't believe that the kind of love we had, the . . . well, the physical, cannot be what she meant. It's one reason he and I wanted to go on the crusade. The Holy Father said that everyone who made it to Jerusalem would be forgiven all their sins, past, present and future."

She peered into his face, curious. "So you meant to keep . . . doing whatever with Albrecht, even afterwards?"

The look in his eyes was poignant. "Elli, I love him. I could never give him up. I would rather go to Hell." His lips twisted in pain.

"You are not going to Hell. Or if you do, then I will go there with you and Albrecht. I could not stand a God who would punish my sweet, loving brother for just doing what feels right to him."

Her gaze was so fierce Elias could not help but grin and then laugh. "Oh, Elli, you are such a termagant. I think they should send you on crusade. You would frighten the unbelief out of all the heathens!"

She looked outraged for a moment, and then her own face crumpled into laughter. "You go now and tell Albrecht that as far as I am concerned, I have two brothers."

Elias feigned horror. "Oh no, that would be incest on top of sodomy!"

Elisabeth stepped back and put her hands on her hips. "Good thing there will probably be more crusades. You two are going to need it!"

Chapter Three ~ Liebestod

It took Adalberta over a year to die. At the end of that hellish period Sigismund stayed in their chamber sleeping on the floor by their bed, terrified that the last moment would come when he was out. When they were present to see it, the twins noted that a constant supply of strong drink went into the room. They heard not only their mother's whimpering, but also their father's frantic sobbing prayers.

Trying to ignore their feelings of guilt, the twins and Albrecht stayed away from the manor as much as they could manage to grasp what they could of life together. It would come as a relief when the loving mother and beautiful woman they remembered was finally out of pain and suffering. How Sigismund would take the apotheosis they could not guess.

One chill evening as they sat frozen both in body and spirit by the hall fire, the sounds abruptly stopped. The three young people exchanged frightened looks. Elias started to rise, but his sister put her hand on his arm. Moments later they heard booted feet on the stairs.

Sigismund stood at the foot in the gloom. "I could not stand it any more. She was in agony. I had to help her out of it. God forgive me, I had to do it." He teetered backwards, his back hitting the timber wall behind him. The three he spoke to jumped to their feet and went to him. He waved them aside. "No, leave me. Go to your mother's bedside. She is with God now. Now I must go to church and try to make my peace with Him." He stumbled to the door of the hall and clumsily pulled it open.

"Go watch him," Elias said to Albrecht. "Make sure he doesn't harm himself."

The younger man looked into Elias's eyes. Glancing quickly at Elisabeth, he nodded, then stepped forward and put his arms around Elias. Elias stood still for a moment, then let his own arms go around him. Elisabeth watched with envy, wishing she had someone to hold her. She could hear Albrecht's weeping.

"Go," Elias repeated softly, and Albrecht pulled himself away, spun and went out the door after the knight.

The twins stood in the darkness gazing mournfully into each other's eyes. He went to her and at last she had the comforting embrace she needed. Arm in arm they ascended the stairs to their parents' chambers where their mother lay, a peaceful look on her face. The young people knelt at the bedside to pray for their mother's soul and for forgiveness for their father.

When he came back into the manor, Sigismund briskly went about arranging for his wife's remains. He would not speak to anyone except to give instructions. Even after her body was removed to the church, he sat in a window embrasure, staring out into some middle distance. He continued to drink enormous amounts of wine, but when he emerged for any reason, he did not seem drunk.

The twins could only wait and watch, wondering what their father would do. Would he closet himself in his chamber forever? Would he go mad and do violence to himself? "He is too strong a man just to give up on life," Elias proclaimed. "He will do something, go somewhere, I don't know."

The household waited with them, knowing that in one way or another, all their lives would soon be irrevocably altered.

Sigismund finally came out of his chamber one day and sent for his steward and the captain of his household knights and soldiers. Elisabeth stood in the corridor, her eyes wide watching as he issued commands. He finally turned to her and put his arms out. She slowly moved forward, then flung herself in his arms. "I am going to Jerusalem," her father said.

He came to supper in the hall that night, telling his son and daughter to sit on either side of him at the high table. He waited until the repast was served to talk about his plan.

"My children, it is a mortal sin to take an innocent life, whatever the reason. It is also a mortal sin to seek to end one's life deliberately. Your mother and I are both in desperate danger of our immortal souls. I did not want to ease her misery that way, but she pleaded with me with her eyes. It should have been cruel not to do as she wished. But God does not make exceptions." He saw Elisabeth leaned forward to speak and waved her to subsidence. "No, hear me out. His Holiness Pope Urban promised complete absolution for all sins, past present and future, if a man or woman would go on his holy crusade to Jerusalem. I did not tell you, but when we laid your mother to rest, I had her heart removed. I will go to Jerusalem. I will take it with me. That is all I can do to expiate both our sins."

Elias sat on his right, his head bowed, listening, while Albrecht was not far away standing with a pitcher of wine. Only Elisabeth looked directly into her father's face.

Sigismund turned to face Elias. "My son," he said in a grim voice, "I need you to stay here and protect our interests. You cannot come with me."

Elisabeth closed her eyes with relief. When she opened them again, she saw Elias's stricken look.

"Not go with you?" he protested.

Sigismund's look was severe. "Do not argue with me, son. I am firm on this. You have a future, and you must prepare. Don't throw your life away on something so nebulous. Stay here and let the steward show you how to maintain our property. I will knight you before the household fighters leave and I. If God wills it . . . " He paused in his statements to chuckle darkly at his own use of the crusaders' motto. "If God wants me to, I will return as soon as I can. Reinhardt will probably come back about the same time. If you have done well, Elias, I will turn the running of this estate over to you. Elisabeth will go with her husband to his estates. I will take my place again in Emperor Henry's service."

Elisabeth finally found her own voice. "When will you go, Father?"

Her brother asked, "And which route will you take?"

Sigismund sighed and sat back in his heavy, ornate chair. "The others who crossed the Alps shall have long been in the Holy Land. I cannot catch up to them but must go as directly there as I may. I believe we shall travel overland, east through the Balkans and down into Byzantium. By the time we arrive there we should be able to get some news about where Eustace and Godfrey of Boulogne are. They may be in Jerusalem already, in which case I will do what I must there, find Reinhardt and plan to return."

He shook his head at his son's resentful look. He put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You will have your chance, Elias. There is never any shortage of wars."

Elias nodded resignedly.

As Sigismund prepared for departure, Elias and Albrecht threw themselves into serving him and his knights. Elisabeth had taken the role of lady of the manor and turned those shaky skills as best she could to help provision the departing company.

She happened to be in a corridor when Elias came toward her from the far end. They stopped and looked at each other. "There is something wrong about all this," she stated without explanation.

Elias shook his head. "I know. I should be going as his squire."

Elisabeth frowned at him. "You are so fixed on your grievance, you are not paying attention to what's going on here."

He started to protest, but the truth of her insight struck him. He bowed his head. "You are right. What are you feeling?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I am not sure I can put it into words. I know Father truly does mean to take mother's heart to Jerusalem, to ensure that they can be together in heaven, but something tells me Father does not mean to come back."

He stared at her, his eyebrows knitted. "But he said he would. Why would he lie?"

Elisabeth shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't realize it himself."

Her brother looked away as if thinking the problem through. "I don't see what we can do," he finally said.

Elisabeth's face showed that she agreed.

The day before Sigismund's household fighters were to leave for the east, he conducted the ceremony that made his son a knight. After a mass in the church where Elias had spent the night on his knees praying to be worthy, Albrecht dressed him in his finest clothes. They went down to the hall together, Albrecht ever at Elias's left shoulder.

Sigismund stood just below the dais dressed in his own finest and holding a naked sword. Elisabeth waited beside him. Father Boniface waited until Elias knelt before his father and Albrecht stepped back to a respectful distance. Elisabeth glanced at the boy, seeing the pride shining in his eyes as he looked at Elias's kneeling figure. She smiled. Father Boniface intoned a blessing and then himself retreated.

Sigismund looked down at his son's bowed head. "Elias, my son, I have ever been proud of you. Even though my many long absences have deprived you of some of what you deserved in your young life, you stayed stalwart, patient, and virtuous. You stood by your dear mother throughout it all. That is indeed the character of a true knight."

He raised the naked blade and performed the ritual of knighting in silence. He had tears in his eyes. When he was finished, he bade Elias stand. Somberly holding up the sword with the pommel toward his son, he proclaimed, "Take your sword, Sir Knight, and see to it you wield it in honor and justice."

Elisabeth heard the priest's quiet "Amen." She watched as Elias took the sword, kissed the place where hilt met blade to create a cruciform, and then slowly slipped it into the empty scabbard at his side. He struck his heels together and bowed to his father. Albrecht stepped to him and draped a mantle about his shoulders. Elias stood, dignified, handsome and magnificent.

One final feast marked the occasion and the departure of most of the fighting men at Winterkirche. It was a somber affair, so much grief part of all the decisions that had been made.

In the early morning much of the same group of people assembled in the courtyard. Sigismund sat his destrier and watched the servants carry a richly decorated casket containing the late Adalberta's heart to a cart and lay it carefully within. Father Boniface pronounced a blessing over the casket and then turned to do the same for the mounted company.

Sigismund looked at his son and daughter where they stood on the steps to the hall. "God bless you and keep you, my children."

Elias lifted his chin and assured, "I shall not disappoint you, my father."

"I know you shall not," was all his father could say in reply. He turned his eyes to rest on his daughter. "I . . . I . . . " His voice broke on a suppressed sob.

"I know, Father. I know," she replied.

They did not know what to expect in the way of tidings from their father. Whenever a traveler passed through their lands they invited him in to learn whatever they could about what transpired in the world. There was little news of either the crusade in Palestine or their father and his party.

Elias found himself sternly summoned to Emperor Henry's court. He told Elisabeth when he returned that the Emperor had angrily inquired why Sigismund had gone without seeking his leave beforehand. Elias was at a loss to explain, other than to say that his father assumed the earlier blessing was in force. He was asked to and gladly agreed to swear his own fealty to Henry, though the man seemed less than confident in a knight so young. In fact, he seemed reluctant to believe the boy had in fact been knighted.

Albrecht learned from other squires that the Emperor was angry that so many of his best knights and barons had chosen to go on crusade, leaving him in an uneasy situation. Nevertheless, he could not refuse them leave, and avoid the wrath of the Church. His stance with Pope Urban was shaky as it was from his years of opposing the Holy See.

In the meantime, Elias spent his time with the manor steward learning what he needed to know to maintain the estates. He continued to work with the sword master, Dagobert, now graduated to real weapons. In what time was available he surrendered to his sister's demands and showed her what he learned. She and Albrecht spent time practicing.

Feeling suspended, Elisabeth found herself returning to Sister Magdalena's cottage time and again. She found the older woman's simple, quiet acceptance of the girl's moods healing. Magdalena never tried to change how Elisabeth felt, what she felt, but listened to her frustrations, her fears, and her grief. She knew that Elisabeth after so much abandonment needed the one sure thing, her friendship.

Not that Elisabeth did not seek advice and reassurance. Some days she fired a barrage of questions and challenges at the woman.

"What if Elias leaves? What do I do if Reinhardt comes back? What do I do if my father never returns? Why must I remain when they all leave?"

Magdalena's sole response to all these questions was, "You will do what you will do when the time comes."

Some news began to trickle in, but it was months old by the time it reached Bavaria. There was nothing whatever about Sigismund and his party, but they learned that in the Fall of 1097 the European forces under Eustace and Godfrey of Boulogne had arrived at the great city of Antioch. Other nobles, including the Norman giant Bohemond and Raymond of Saint Gilles, Count of Toulouse, had joined them in Constantinople. The last anyone knew was that they were besieging Antioch, with no hope in sight of breeching the massive walls.

Elisabeth gaped when she heard that Bohemond, the scion of the Norman Guiscard dynasty in southern Italy, was in effect the real leader of the crusader armies. He was notorious for being the sword arm of his late father in trying to wrest control of Byzantium. "And the Byzantine Emperor agreed?" she asked, astonished.

The traveling priest who brought this news shrugged. "It seems so. He is a masterful leader of men."

It was summer of the year 1100 when Elias asked his sister to come with him to the church where their mother's body, if not her heart, was entombed.

Her brother turned to Elisabeth, taking her hands in his. He glanced at Albrecht, nodded, and then turned back. "Elli, Albrecht and I are going to go to the Holy Land to look for Father and to pray for him and Mother at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher."

Elisabeth stepped back involuntarily, pulling her hands out of his. With her fingertips to her lips, she exclaimed, "No! You can't!"

Elias's beautiful countenance showed his regret as he glanced over at Albrecht.

"Well if you must go, take me with you!" she said sharply, putting her arms tight around her own breasts.

Her brother arched his eyebrows. "Believe me, I thought about just that. But, no, it is not a safe place for a woman of your station."

She glanced from Elias to his squire and then back. "I can fight. You know I can," she retorted.

The indulgent look that drove her mad was on his face. "You can also be captured, raped and held for ransom."

It was not the response she had expected. She was not prepared to counter the assertion with any intelligence. Instead she said lamely, "Great ladies go to the Holy Land all the time."

"Name one," Elias said, simply and firmly.

She opened her mouth to reply, but no names came to her. She supposed there must be women of rank who made the pilgrimage but even had she thought of one, she knew all that had ended when the crusaders brought open war to the Holy Land.

Her brother watched her face as she struggled with finding a reason he should take her with him. "I will make sure you are well protected here. You won't be alone. And I need you to look after Winterkirche while we are gone."

The word "we" caused her to shoot a furious glare at Albrecht. She wanted to snap something about their just wanting to be alone together, but she knew better and turned back to Elias. "Don't patronize me, Elias. You know better than that." She turned and hurried back to the hall.

The two young men stayed out of her way for the rest of the day. In the evening, as long affection told Elias she would, Elisabeth thawed and came to where he and his squire sat by the fire in the hall.

"When will you leave?" she asked the two in a quiet voice.

Albrecht's eyes sparkled as he met his lover's knowing smile.

Elias said, "We will want to get over the Alps by the time real winter sets in. So sometime before Michaelmas."

Only two months, she groaned inwardly. "But the fighting may be over by the time you get to Jerusalem."

He shrugged. "I guess we will see. There has been little word has made it here. If they are still fighting, we shall join in. If they have taken Jerusalem by now, we will be there to help keep it safe."

Looking with trepidation between the two men's faces, Elisabeth said, "You mean to stay there, then?" She caught the look they gave each other. "You do! Damn you, Elias, you don't mean to come back!"

He and his squire looked down at their hands. He mumbled, "We don't really know. We have not planned that far."

Elisabeth, still standing, glared at her brother. Slowly her face softened. "There is no longer anything here for you . . . except wealth and estates..." she added acidly.

Elias frowned at her. She shook her head, resigned, and took a seat on a stool. "I know, I know." Her thoughts turned to her betrothed. Perhaps he was already dead. In that case she would stay on here and grow happily old alone, the mad widow of Winterkirche. The thought almost brought a smile to her lips.

Elias raised one arm and drew it across his forehead. "Lord Jesus, it's stifling in here."

Elisabeth listlessly moped about the manor. She tried to smile and encourage the young men as they prepared to leave for the Brenner Pass and Italy, but try as she might, she could not maintain against her growing dread.

"Elias, rest a bit, you have servants who can do all this," she said to him one morning as she found him with Albrecht in his own chamber. She tried not to notice the rumpled bed, the lack of a squire's pallet on the floor. She wondered what the servants made of it, if they noticed.

"She is right, my lord," Albrecht inserted. "You are tiring yourself out. Look at you, it's just an hour since sun-up and you are already starting to drag."

Elias started to argue, but subsided, putting down the gauntlet he was testing for loose screws. He yawned. "I don't know what has come over me. I'll lie down for a while now." He looked over at Albrecht. "Will you come back and sit with me?"

Elisabeth stood quickly and, making a rushed comment to her brother, followed the squire out into the corridor. "Albrecht, wait a minute!" she called.

She reached him in the corridor and put her hand on his arm. "You are worried about something, something to do with Elias. What is it?" she asked. "When you said he should rest, there was a look in your eye. Like you were worried.."

Albrecht said, "He has seemed pinched, tired. That's all. I just hope is not becoming ill."

"Ill?" she repeated. "Dear God, I do hope not."

Only days later she happened to pass through the corridor as Elias came out of an alcove that was used as a privy at night. He stood outside it, shaking. His face was suffused with sweat.

"Oh my God, Elias!" she cried as she rushed to him. She took his arm and led him to his chamber.

"Where is Albrecht? Send for him," he rasped as she helped him lie back on his bed. "Hurry."

She went to his door and hailed a passing servant. She returned to Elias's bedside, reached for the ewer of water on the table next to it and the cloth that lay beside it. She poured water into a large bowl and soaked the cloth, squeezed it out and leaned to her brother.

He weakly took her extended wrist and asked, "Did you send for Albrecht?"

"I did. They will bring wine and more cloths, and he will come." Frowning, he released her wrist, letting her wipe the sweat from his face.

"You are ill. We were afraid of that."

He looked at her. "We? You and the servants?"

"Albrecht and I," she responded.

At that moment the squire came into the chamber in a rush. He went to the side of the bed opposite Elisabeth and sat. "My lord, are you well? What is wrong?"

Elias reached for his hand. "I am sick. I am feverish and I just puked up more food than I even ate this morning." He grimaced. "And it is coming out the other end too."

Albrecht watched Elias's hand cover his own, sighed, and let him hold it. "Oh Elias." He did not bother to say the formal "my lord."

Elisabeth looked at them both. "How sad it must be," she thought to herself, "to have someone who loves and cares for you, but you can't let anyone see it." She stood. Aloud she said, "I will go for a tisane that will help you sweat out the fever."

Elias stopped her. "Albrecht, can you go get it? I want to talk to my sister."

The squire glanced from one twin to the other, then nodded and went out.

"Elisabeth, I know you know . . . about Albrecht and me," the sick man said in a hesitant voice.

She nodded. "You know I do."

He glanced away and asked, "Do you hate me?"

"Of course not! How can you ask that?"

He looked back with a grim smile. "I haven't always been sure. You said so once, but sometimes you looked at us with such anger."

She put her hands to her face. "Oh my God, I am so sorry. There were just some times when I was confused or jealous. But Magdalena told me that you love each other, just as Father and Mother. I am just glad you have had someone to love like that. That you do have someone to love." She looked quizzically at him. "You don't think you are going to die, do you?"

He made his voice joking. "No, I don't. It's just so much fun to get a rise out of you."

He laughed at her exasperated look.

She had taken her leave of her brother when the squire returned with a covered tray. "I will let you talk." She startled Albrecht by going up to him and leaning to plant a kiss on his cheek.

The next time she saw him he looked at her oddly, with a mixture of wariness, disbelief, and wonder. "Elias said . . . " he whispered to her.

Interrupting she said, "Just love him."

Open-mouthed, he nodded. "I do, how I do."

She smiled. "It's all right, then."

It was not all right. Elias lay in his bed day and night, weak, shivering, and barely able to eat or drink. He began to waste away. Michaelmas came and went.

Elisabeth was in her brother's chamber one evening while he lay asleep on the bed. She did not care for needlework but it was all she had to keep her hands busy. She frowned at a misplaced stitch and muttered, "Damn!"

"Such language," came her brother's weak voice from the pillow.

She looked up, saw his pale face smiling at her. "Elias!" She went to sit next to him on the bed. "Are you feeling better?" It sounded so thoughtless, this vain question.

Her heart wrenched as he shook his head. "No, I am not. I know I am dying. Please do not argue with me on that. I don't want to go through what we all went through with Mother refusing to talk about it."

Elisabeth's eyes brimmed over with tears. "Oh, Elias," she sobbed. "I cannot bear it."

"You must. For Albrecht's sake." Seeing her eyes widen, he added, "Please, just hear me out."

She drew the back of her hand under her nose, sniffed and nodded. "Yes," she said.

He struggled for the breath he needed to go on speaking. "It grieves me to leave you, Elli, but I am sore afraid for Albrecht. You are the only one who knows about us, you and Magdalena. He is going to need you. He will need to mourn just like a widow, but he won't be able to do it publicly. You must be his bulwark." Elias's words petered out, his strength spent.

She looked deep into his eyes. Her first impulse, a selfish anger that he loved his friend more than his sister, was drowned by what she saw in his eyes. It was his love for and trust in her that made him beg her to take care of the younger man.

She put her palm on his cheek and tried to smile. "I understand, my darling. I will be there for him. I promise." His brow smoothed at her words. There was a new appeal in his eyes. "I will send for him, so you can say your goodbyes." She put her fingers to her lips and transferred a kiss from them to his lips.

He mouthed "I love you," and she felt as if her heart had squeezed to a hard knot in her breast.

When Albrecht came he took her hands and searched her face. "He wants to say goodbye," she explained.

A sob erupted from deep in his chest, and tears ran suddenly down his cheeks. He rushed to the bedside. She quietly shut the door behind her.

She summoned Father Boniface to give the young lord last rites, then firmly shut the door after the old priest departed.

It was near midnight when the door opened slowly and Albrecht stepped out. Elisabeth was sitting in a window embrasure, in the low light of torches, and stood when she saw him. They walked to each other and without a word put their arms about each other. Albrecht began to weep inconsolably. Elisabeth let her own tears join with his.

She drew him with her to the embrasure and lowered herself to sit. She took him in her arms and held him, rocking him and crooning soothingly as he gave way to utter despair.

Chapter Four ~ Lady of the Manor

Elisabeth went through the motions of daily life even after her brother had been laid to rest in the little church next to their mother. Albrecht was nowhere to be seen, having withdrawn from the preparations for Elias's funeral. Unsure if he had gone entirely, Elisabeth waited, trying to hang onto some sort of consciousness. She was Winterkirche now, at least until her father returned. Would he, wherever he was, learn of his son's death? Unlikely, as no firm news of him had come since he departed.

Even now as tidings of the Crusade began to trickle in there was nothing about Sigismund. Elisabeth heard that indeed, not long before Pope Urban II passed away, the forces of the Cross had taken Jerusalem. The Holy Father, the architect of the Crusade, never knew of its success.

Elisabeth was sitting in what was now her solar talking with her steward about mundane matters involving tenants when a servant came in and bowed to her. "Mistress, the squire Albrecht would like to speak with you."

"Well, bring him in! He need not stand on such ceremony!" She sat up straight, smoothed her bodice, and nodded to the steward. "We will finish later, Martin."

She stood to greet her friend as he came through the doorway. Her face darkened at the sight of him, thin, haggard. She came around the table and went to him and took his hands. His eyes were cast down to the rushes on the floor.

"My lady, I . . . I . . . ," he began.

"Albrecht, my dear, come to the embrasure and sit with me. I was afraid you had left us."

Sitting hesitantly by her he tried again. "My lady, I came to bid you farewell-"

She did not let him finish, but interrupted, "Farewell? Why?"

He looked up at her for the first time, his eyes full of perplexity. "My lady, I have no place here. The lord is in the Holy Land and my . . . the young lord . . . I was their squire. I have no employment here now."

She stared at him, her lips parted. "Oh dear, I had not thought of that. You have been part of our lives; I was thinking you would somehow just stay here. That was selfish of me. You want to be a knight. You can't do that here. Of course you want to leave."

He hesitated, looked about as if for guidance, then admitted, "I do not want to leave. This has been my home, the place where I have been the happiest in my life . . . I cannot be sure how I can . . . I don't know if I care about being a knight, not without Elias, the young lord, I mean . . . " His voice trailed off.

"Then why leave? I don't want you to leave. There must be something you can do here. I promised my brother I would look after you. Oh please don't go!" She took his hands in hers and held tight.

"But, my lady . . . ," he appealed.

"Damn it, Albrecht, stop calling me that. I am your sister. Stop being so damned servile."

Looking into her flashing eyes, he nodded silently and glumly. "Thank you, my l . . . Elisabeth."

Woodenly the household returned to normal. Elisabeth had acted in her mother's stead so long it came to her as rote. One of her duties, now performed alone, was to greet visitors. Preferring the comfort of solitude, Elisabeth performed her duties, bearing with the few who came, mostly travelers, two or three returning pilgrims, but none as disruptive as the one who arrived one damp and miserable morning.

Taking her accustomed place on the steps to the hall after the horn blast augured the approach of a mounted party, Elisabeth composed herself with dignity. The gate opened and the first of what sounded like a considerable troop of horses rode in. Elisabeth did not believe her eyes at first. The banners, the livery, the face-it was Reinhardt! She thought she might swoon, though she never had done so in her life. He was alive and back from the Holy Land. The solace of her solitude was fractured.

Reinhardt rode up to just before where she stood, her hand to her mouth in surprise. "Happy to see me, my dear?" he crooned mockingly. He waved off the groom who dragged the mounting block near, and, throwing one leg up behind him, he deftly dismounted to stand before her. He slowly drew his leather gloves off, took one of her hands and kissed it. He looked about. "Where is everyone?"

Elisabeth could not speak. Gratefully she heard Albrecht approaching from behind her left shoulder. He spoke solemnly. "Your Grace, I am sorry to inform you that this lady's mother and brother have passed on. Lord Sigismund went to the Holy Land many, many months ago."

Reinhardt stared at the squire. His eyes shifted back to Elisabeth. "This is true?"

All she could manage was a nod. She saw Reinhardt take it in, and then was disgusted to notice that a satisfied look had come across his countenance. She could almost hear his thoughts. "Mine! Then it is all mine!"

His men dismounted behind him. He turned to Albrecht and commanded, "Boy, see to it our horses are taken care of and provision made for my men's quartering."

Glancing over her shoulder at Albrecht, Elisabeth saw his pressed lips. She looked quickly back to Reinhardt, "My lord, you are of course more than welcome to Winterkirche. How long do you plan to stay?"

Reinhardt smiled sardonically. "It talks!" He sighed. "But have you forgotten? I am your husband. Until your father returns, I am lord of Winterkirche."

"Damn," he breathed. He slapped his leg with a riding crop and seemed to consider. "I will stay a fortnight, then, and return to put my estates in order." He gave her an annoyed look. "I suppose you cannot be ready to come with me that soon."

"But your Grace," Elisabeth began.

A slow smile crept along his lips. "Cannot wait that long, my love?" he said with a mocking leer. He took her hand again and kissed it. "Christ, why are we standing out here? I need a drink and a fire." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him up the steps and into the hall.

Reinhardt strode right up to the dais at the end of the hall and climbed and took the high seat where Sigismund traditionally had presided over meals and court. He pushed back Adalberta's chair with his foot. "Sit," he said. He called to the servants who hung about in the shadows along the side of the hall. "Here, you! Bring wine. And something to eat. Someone build up that fire."

His men were filing in through the door, eying the rest of the trestle tables where they were stacked against one wall. "Oh just sit," Reinhardt called to them irritably.

Reinhardt ordered servants to bring more chairs and called to his officers to join them at the high table. The wine flowed generously; the boisterous conversation belied the fact that the household was in mourning.

Reinhardt suddenly leaned to her and asked, "Is he buried?"

She looked at him startled. "Who?" she asked. She knew whom he meant but the word came out anyway.

"Your brother. That sodomite. Is he buried?"

Her face paled. She was not sure what the word meant, but she could guess it was not a praiseworthy thing to Reinhardt. "Yes, my lord, in the family vault in the church."

"Good," he replied shortly. "I hate funerals." He went back to talking with his men.

It was listening to that raucous group that told Elisabeth what had happened to Reinhardt in the Holy Land. When she was able to break away on the excuse she had to push the kitchen to prepare a feast for her husband and his men, she sought out Albrecht and shared the tale.

"It seems that once Jerusalem was in Christian hands, the Franks and the Flemings snatched up all the estates and positions. Whatever Reinhardt thought he was going to get it all went to others. As soon as he realized that, he set sail for home," she whispered to him in an alcove.

"More's the pity he had no reason to stay there," Albrecht growled.

"Albrecht, what is a sodomite?"

He stared at her, dumbfounded. At last he asked, "Why do you ask, my lady?"

"That's what Reinhardt called my brother." She gazed at his face. He had gone pale. "Oh," she answered herself. "That. But how could he know?"

Albrecht shook his head. "I know not. But it may mean I must take leave of you."

"Why?" she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

Albrecht eyed her unhappily. "He may know about me, too, and that sort of man is not gentle with my sort."

At supper Reinhardt informed Elisabeth, "I have a guest coming with his small retinue tomorrow. I had hoped to introduce him to your father, but ah, well." He yawned. He reached to take her hand, leaning to look into her face. "Pity I am as tired as I am. I should like to have explored whether under all those unattractive clothes you had a real woman hidden." He laughed at her offended face. Kissing the hand he clutched in his fist, he said, "Better get used to the idea, my dear. You won't be a maid much longer."

The guest was an old comrade of Baron Reinhardt's from the Holy Land. He was a Frank, a knight, Gautier du Visage Cassé, and no better a piece of work than Reinhardt himself. He was tall with the muscular upper body of a swordsman, but his long legs seemed wrong, as if his own had been cut off by a Saracen and a skinnier man's legs sewn on to his trunk. He had greasy black hair that hung in his face. It was a saving Grace, since the long scar that gave him his soubriquet nearly split that face in two. One eye was gone and his eyelid literally sewn shut, the stitches black and ragged. His breath reeked. Even the Baron winced when the man leaned into his face to make some bawdy remark.

"Mon Dieu, Reinhardt! I did not know you were a buggerer. This is a boy, is it not?" He examined Elisabeth who stood silently next to the baron.

Reinhardt scowled but did not reply. He gestured his comrade to a seat at the table set on the dais at the end of the hall.

Gautier went to the dais, stepped up and took the seat indicated. Reinhardt ushered Elisabeth before him up onto the rise and seated her between him and the Frankish knight. Gautier glanced around the hall. "Who died? Everyone is going about with their chins scraping the rushes."

Reinhardt looked at Elisabeth as if waiting for her to answer the man's question. She cleared her throat. "My lord, my brother died quite recently."

"Her twin brother," Reinhardt added.

Gautier leveled his one-eyed gaze at her. "Identical twins, or so it seems. Are you sure they didn't mistakenly bury the girl?" He laughed at his own joke. "Well, can't you get some dancers or jongleurs in to lighten the mood? It's like mass in a poor monastery in here."

Reinhardt fingered his beard. "I regret to tell you, mon ami, that I brought no such with me. Any entertainers installed here at Winterkirche fled as soon as the young master died."

She had realized what he said was true by the morning after her brother's death. Not only had the minnesinger and other musicians decamped as soon as they knew a returning Baron Reinhardt would replace the young lord. Several of the servants had gone as well. She understood their fear and only envied them their ability to escape.

"Can it sing or dance?" Gautier smirked. He was looking at her.

"No, my lord," she hastily responded.

"I told you, Reinhardt, it's a boy. And not a very pretty one."

Reinhardt glowered. He gestured to a servant for wine and changed the topic. "What do you hear of the new call for crusade, my good fellow?"

New crusade? It was the first Elisabeth had heard of it.

Gautier took the cup of wine the servant placed before him. "His Holiness, the new pope, Paschal II I think he styles himself, has called for it. There was a letter sent to the Frankish churchmen. It seems that Baldwin thinks the Paynim will try to take back Jerusalem. My brother, who is an abbot, says he calls for 'all the soldiers of your region to strive for remission and forgiveness of their sins by hastening to our Mother Church of the East; to move their arses thither,' or words to that effect." He considered his comrade-in-arms. "Will you go, mon frère?"

Sitting back in his chair Reinhardt caught the hopeful look Elisabeth flashed at him. "I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear. I have been to the Holy Land and fought for the Faith. Therefore all my sins, past and future, are wiped away as the sun clears the dew. I have no intention of going back to that scorpion-infested sun-roasted hellhole. Not for God, not for the Pope, and certainly not for you."

Gautier laughed aloud. "Nor I, cher Reinhardt. I have lands to control, sons to beget, Frankish whores to bed and wine to consume. But you shall enjoy this. I hear His Holiness singled out those who fled the Siege of Antioch, promising they shall linger excommunicate and lightened of their lands and goods, unless they go back and make men of themselves again."

Reinhardt slammed his cup of wine onto the table before him, and slapping his thighs crowed, "My God! Stephen of Blois will never live that down. So I suppose he is going?"

The Frank shrugged.

Elisabeth ventured, "Did he flee the siege? Why?"

Reinhardt raised his eyebrows as he looked at her. "Interested, are we? Well, yes, he did and he did it because he is a lily-livered weak-assed shameful excuse for a man. He did worse than desert, he convinced Emperor Alexios to turn back with the army he was bringing to assist our armies."

Gautier joined in in a squeaky voice, "'They are dead, all dead, I tell you! Flee, flee for your lives!'"

"Were they all dead?" she asked, incredulous.

"Not 'they,' dear girl. 'We.' We were very much alive."

"I should not claim exactly that, my dear Gautier. We were starving to death. We were the ones under siege by then. That fool monk insisted the lance was buried in the church, and sure enough there it was. Everybody was hallucinating something. For the bishop it was a holy lance. I for one was hallucinating a feast served by houris."

Gautier made an obscene gesture, then seeing the woman's puzzled look, explained, "Virgins the heathens believe will serve them when they go to paradise."

"Sometimes I prefer the Paynim vision of paradise to our Heaven. I would rather lie in an oasis sipping nectar from the valley between a woman's breasts than on my knees before Our Lord singing psalms. Can you imagine Bohemond with his terrible voice singing psalms in the wrong key?"

Gautier toasted his host. "Mayhap in heaven all can sing like angels."

"So who is going?"

Gautier looked blank. "To heaven?"

"No, imbecile. On crusade." Reinhardt picked up the flask of wine from the table and refilled his friend's cup. When he started to pour some for Elisabeth he saw the cup was untouched. "Drink, you ugly bitch. Don't be inhospitable to my guests," he rasped in her ear.

She took the cup in her hands, brought it to her lips, glaring at him, but set the cup down as full as it had been before. He growled under his breath.

Gautier was speaking. "That Archbishop of Milan, Anselm or something, is gathering Lombards for a crusade. I have no idea if he is getting any recruits."

"Nothing from the Germans? The Franks?"

Gautier spread his hands. "How should I know? I would not put it past some of the young men who could not go the first time. And I suppose your Emperor will want to send someone."

"Humph! Well, God help them and the Devil take them!" was the Baron's ironic response.

Elisabeth allowed herself to relax as the two men drank and reminisced. All day she had been on edge, wondering when Reinhardt would demand his matrimonial rights. She swung between crippling fear and violent anger. She looked for Albrecht whom she knew was trying to stay out of the baron's sight.

"I can't stand it. I'll kill him. I'll run away." She spat as she paced the aisles between the stalls in the stable.

Albrecht could think of no comfort. His own nerves were raw, his internal debate as to whether to run himself and desert her taking its toll.

At the high table she began to wonder if she would be alone for one more night. It was little comfort but it was something. If he got drunk enough, perhaps he would not . . .

"Well, my dear, it is time for bed. I think under the circumstances the pomp and ritual of a bedding is unnecessary." It appeared that Reinhardt had shared the delay after their marriage with his friend, as the man just leered. Reinhardt gave him a brisk nod. "No father or mother here to stop me this time." He grasped Elisabeth's hand and stood, dragging her to her feet. She was too stunned at first to resist.

As they passed down the hall she started to hold back. Reinhardt spun to face her. "Do not even think of humiliating me before my men. You will get much worse than a bedding."

Her mouth agape, she let him lead her out of the hall and up the stairs. He took her to her parents' old chamber. Entering, he surveyed the servants' preparations and ordered them out. He kicked the door shut and bolted it.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded. He went to a table and poured himself wine.

Elisabeth did not move. She wrapped her arms around her breasts and glared at him.

After a moment he turned and stared mockingly at her. "What? Do you think I will just say, oh well, if you don't want to?"

"You are going to have to fight for whatever you take," she growled through bared teeth.

He took a long draught of the wine, put the cup down, and replied, "Actually, I rather like that idea." He strode the few feet to her and reached to grab her.

In a flash she had a knife in her hand. He jumped back when she would have stabbed him in the belly. "My God, woman, are you mad?"

She glared into his eyes. She watched him shake his joints loose and lean forward as if looking for an opening. He held no knife but nevertheless appeared to spar with her. He feinted, nearly grabbed her wrist with his other hand, then jumped back again as she avoided him. "You are quite the hellcat. I am going to enjoy this immensely."

She anticipated his next move, a double feint, but was unable to move fast enough when he grabbed for her and clasped both her hands in one of his. He twisted her wrists, grinning at her sharp cry of pain as she dropped her weapon.

He had his lower lip caught between his teeth and his eyes sparkled. He did not say a word. Instead he forced her backwards until the back of her legs hit the bed. Then he turned her around and forced her to bend so her upper torso was pressed on the counterpane and her knees pressed into the side of the bed. He put one hand on the small of her back and held her down. She tried to twist free, but it was no use.

She could tell he was fumbling with his other hand, pulling up her layers of skirts, finally ripping what he couldn't push away. His grunt was not of pleasure but of condemnation. "No arse to speak of, but they'd better be all right for childbirth."

Her arse exposed, she waited, forcing away tears. She swore at him continuously, calling him names he had not guessed a woman of her station might know. When it finally struck her that her behavior stimulated his lust, she stopped. The next sound out of her mouth was a scream as he forced his way into her, tearing her maidenhead violently, and all she could do was cry out over and over again.

Afterwards she stayed in her awkward position as he reached for the torn clothes on the floor. He tossed them on the bed next to her. "Get dressed and go. I don't like to share a bed."

She grabbed the clothes and without covering herself dashed as quickly to the door as the pain between her sticky thighs allowed. She fumbled with the bolt, and then shot it open, running out into the corridor half naked.

As she reached her own chamber door Albrecht stepped out from an embrasure. "My lady!" he cried with alarm.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "Don't touch me, you bastard!"

He saw the bruises Reinhardt's open palm left on her face, the torn clothing, and the fury in her eyes. "I'll kill him," he growled through clenched teeth. Putting his hand to the hilt of his sword he started to stride down the hall.

"No!" Elisabeth called after him after a moment's hesitation. "Come back. Please!" she wailed.

He slowed and stopped, turning to look at her. The appeal in her eyes drew him back to her. He hesitatingly put out his arms so she could, if she wished, enter them and receive comfort. She stared at the floor, and then quietly walked into his embrace. She could not prevent herself from shuddering at his touch.

Reinhardt used her again every night he remained at Winterkirche, seemingly oblivious to everything she did to make herself undesirable. She tried to hide, tried to lock herself in her chamber, and even attempted to escape him, but he had men watching her at all times. Her loyal serving-woman, Marta, tried to soothe her, to calm her, but her constant assurances that Elisabeth would grow used to the rough handling only made the girl withdraw further into herself.

The morning Reinhardt left she was forced to attend him. She stood hollow-eyed and distracted, causing the man's soldiers to elbow each other and laugh about how busy their lord had kept the wench. Reinhardt himself was grim but with a subtle air of self-satisfaction. He had made it clear to her that he expected her to quicken with child and to make him wait no longer for a son and heir. She nodded dumbly and watched him mount his horse and ride out of the gates.

Elisabeth never wanted to return to the hall, but she forced herself to do so the next day.

Over the ensuing days Elisabeth tried to go through the motions of keeping house. She quickly discovered that she had little to do. Reinhardt had informed her steward that if he wanted to keep his position, he would now only answer to himself and his representatives left behind to keep an eye on the girl and her possessions.

Elisabeth went looking for her only remaining ally, fearing that he, Albrecht, had decamped along with everyone else in spite of his protestations, a decision for which she could not fault him. She turned to go into the hall only to find herself face to face with Hans, one of Reinhardt's squires who was posted to keep an eye on her for his master. The young man's obscene smile startled her so she stepped backward. "Hans, remember yourself!" she demanded hotly.

The man stepped back and made a deep bow. "My lady," he acknowledged in an ironic voice.

"Just exactly why did he leave you here?"

Hans stood up straight and inclined his head. "I am to keep an eye on the feisty little bitch. Do not blame me!" he snapped as she lifted a palm to slap him. "I am just answering your question with the very words your husband used."

She scowled and passed him, not seeing the amused look he cast after her, a look that slid down her back to her rump, appraising.

"Oh good, you are here," Elisabeth whispered as she stepped through the stable door and saw Albrecht with Carlchen, his horse, currying his coat in a patch of sunlight. Carlchen was smaller than a destrier, but still big and chestnut in color.

The squire did not smile as he looked up, though he did make a short bow. "My lady, how come you here?"

She went to the gate of the stall, pulled it open and slipped in and alongside the horse. In the stall next to them, Elias's horse Gauner, a huge gray, nickered and put his nose over to be stroked. She went to him and put her hand on his forehead. "Oh Gauner, you miss him as much as we do, don't you?"

Albrecht continued to move along Carlchen's side with the currycomb. He waited for Elisabeth to turn back to him.

When she did at last, she seemed to be thinking how to say something. Slowly she began, "Albrecht, do you still mean to leave here?" Her eyes pleaded with him.

He sighed. Continuing his task he replied, "Yes, I must, with your leave of course. I know the Baron's type, same as most such. If he has any idea about Elias and me, I will be dead in no time."

Elisabeth stared uncomprehending. "You really think he would kill you?"

"It happens all the time."

"But you are from a noble family! They would never permit it!" she protested, recalling Sister Magdalena's words.

Albrecht's look was sardonic. "Perhaps, but at the stake or on a gallows is not the only way to be killed. A word in his guards' ears and I would be as good as dead. The best I can hope for is that he says nothing of his suspicions to any other knights."

Frowning, Elisabeth walked to the other side of the horse, letting her hand trail along its flank soothingly. "Could you go to the new crusade?"

He stopped brushing the chestnut coat of his horse and leaned back against the stall. "I may have to, my lady. Knights don't usually take on other knights' squires. You usually spend a long time with a family. Just as I did . . . here." His voice broke and he looked away.

She could not see him over the large horse's back, but she heard the emotion in his voice. She too leaned back against the stall, Gauner putting his head over to nuzzle her hair. "Do you think you could find a knight on the crusade?" Her own lips were turned down at their edges with sadness.

He paused, and then said desultorily, "I will have to."

"I wish I could go with you," she began, but a sound at the stable door made both young people look in that direction.

A fair crop of uncombed hair appeared over the top of the stall gate and then a supercilious face. "I wondered if I'd find the two of you together somewhere. Just in time, from the look of it." It was Hans.

Albrecht rankled. "You are speaking of a lady, churl. Show some respect."

Hans pulled the stall gate ajar just enough that he could stand in the gap. "It matters not to me, friend, if you are fucking the wench. I am just doing my job."

"Albrecht is a good and chaste fellow," Elisabeth snapped back, earning nothing more than a derisive snort from the squire.

"I am sure of it, my lady, as sure as the sun will rise in the west."

"You have a filthy mind," Albrecht said, advancing on Hans. His movements worried Carlchen who became jittery. Albrecht stopped his progress and turned his attention to calming the animal.

Hans's hands were up to ward off any assault, but now he dropped them to his side. He glanced at Elisabeth. With a small bow, he said, "As I said, I don't care if you spread your legs for all the farmers in the valley, save that it would mean hurt to me if his nibs heard of it. Frankly, I don't see what the squire sees in you. You are not exactly what they call a toothsome wench. The Baron wants the estates and a brat. Once he has those, I think you can be sure he will leave you alone."

"Get out of my sight!" Elisabeth shot at him.

He shrugged, turned at the door, not bothering to close the gate. "Just remember, I will know if you two are alone too long in a private place." He looked up and around inside the stable. "This is too open a place. I think you will be more circumspect than to rut on the floor in here." He ducked the flying currycomb and went out.

Elisabeth came around Carlchen's head and found Albrecht trembling with fury. She went to him and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "What a fool," she said angrily. "If he only knew."

Albrecht looked hard at her. "If he only knew I would be dead for sure. That's why I have to get out of here."

Elisabeth had gone pale. "When will you leave?"

He went out of the stall to retrieve the currycomb, brought it back, pulling the gate shut behind him, and responded, "In a few days. Just long enough to make sure the baron is well on his way."

"Where will you go? To join the crusaders I mean?"

He shrugged. "I suppose south to Italy. Milan? Venice?" He averted his eyes and in a hesitating voice went on, "My lady, I am loath to ask this, but I shall need some help. . . . "

She looked up, eager. "Anything! What do you want me to do?"

He turned his back to her. She had to strain to understand his mumbled reply. "I need money, my lady. I have nothing to live on."

"Oh, of course." Elisabeth shook her head. "I can get some, though it will certainly be missed." She squared her shoulders and said in a rebellious tone, "What do I care if it's missed? It's yours, all you need." She put a finger to her chin. "Or . . . ," she began. "What about Elias's armor? And the horse? You could take them, use them, and sell them. Other than the horse, they would not be missed. . . . " Her voice trailed off as she went to where Gauner's muzzle overtopped the stall. She put a hand on his nose and stroked. "You would be terribly missed, my darling," she said to him.

"Let me think about it, my lady. I thank you for your generosity, whatever happens. I hate to leave you behind, but what else can we do?"

Elisabeth turned her face back to him. Her gaze was unfocused, far away. "I don't know." She paused. "Can you meet me in Elias's chamber after all are abed tonight?"

Albrecht eyed her warily. "What about Hans?"

"No, we don't want him there. Just the two of us," she said absently, too absent to have taken his meaning. She was deep in thought.

Hans had a guard on Elisabeth's chamber door that night. The man sat in the window embrasure across the corridor, but when her chamber door opened he leaped to his feet, at attention.

Elisabeth in her night robe looked out at him. "Here, man, come here!" she demanded imperiously. "The lazy maid forgot to fill this with water. How am I supposed to wash? Get me some water!"

"But my lady, I am not to leave my post," the man protested.

"Nonsense," she said, dismissively. "I am not going anywhere. I am half asleep already. Just go and get it. Or I will make your life hell."

He looked about but no help was at hand, so he stepped forward to take the pitcher she held out. He scowled but bowed to her and rushed down the corridor.

She was still standing at the door when he returned. She yawned deeply and took the pitcher. She looked into it and made a disgusted noise. "Where did you get this? The horse trough?" She thrust it back into his arms. "Go to the well by the kitchens. I am not going to wash in filthy water."

"B-but, my lady, it does come from the ki-"

She gave the man a furious glance and turned to go into her chamber. "A liar as well as incompetent. Just do it. Knock on my door when you get clean water."

He heard the bolt fall into place as the door thumped shut. Sighing he went back down the corridor.

When he returned he knocked on her chamber door. He got no answer. He reached to the latch and thought better of simply walking into his lady's chamber. He fumed, and then put the pitcher on the floor. He knocked again, and getting no answer went back to trying to stay awake in the embrasure. After a short while he dozed.

Albrecht was already in Elias's chamber when Elisabeth slipped in as quietly as she could. She put a finger to her lips to advise silence and leaned her ear to the thick wooden door. After a moment, she stood and went over to where he stood. She gestured to the settle, and they sat down together.

"I have an idea," she began without any preamble. "Why can't I go with you when you leave for the crusade?"

Albrecht stared at her, speechless. He finally managed, "How can you? You would be missed."

She smiled smugly. "Yes, but if I am not caught, what matters if I am missed?"

The squire stood and started to pace. "But Hans . . . "

"I have a feeling he can be dealt with," she said with conviction.

After a few turns around the chamber, Albrecht stopped his pacing. "You are probably right. He is as venal as I have seen a man." He started walking again, then stopped. "You aren't planning actually to go on crusade . . . ?"

"Of course not. I'm a woman, and a noble woman at that. I can hardly be a camp follower, but there's got to be some way to get out of Reinhardt's clutches. I will enter a convent before I let him touch me again."

"You would make one hell of an abbess," Albrecht said, "begging your pardon."

"Hmm, well, yes, but that's only as a last resort. Frankly, I don't know what I will do. I just want to get as far from here as possible."

Starting to pace again, the man considered. "How will you get away? You can hardly saddle up and ride off."

"Well, you need Elias's armor, right? You would have to carry it away, and that might be rather difficult to conceal. But what if someone wore it out of the manor?" She waited his understanding eagerly.

His pacing stopped abruptly. "You mean?"

She nodded. "I will wear it out. Then you can take it after we get wherever we go."

Albrecht sat down hard on the edge of the bed, so rapt with her idea he did not realize where he was sitting. "You would have to be disguised anyway to travel without being known. I don't know if any of the guards Reinhardt left behind would recognize Elias's armor, if we take the insignia off. Or you could wear a cloak over it."

Elisabeth forgot her fear and grief in the excitement. "I have an even better idea." She waited for him to look back up at her. "I will go to stay at Sister Magdalena's for a few days. You will leave before me. Then once I am there, you will come. You will transport the armor before that. Once you come I will put on the armor and leave. No one will see us leave together."

Albrecht put his palms down on either side of his hips. The touch made him realize where he was. He leaped up as if scalded. He stood a moment and gazed at the bed. He said something under his breath, sighed and turned back to her. "It could work. But what about Hans?" he asked again.

"Leave Hans to me."

She stood and went to the massive armoire that stood against one wall. She pulled the two doors toward her to reveal her brother's armor. "Do you think it will fit me?"

Albrecht came to her side. He reached to stroke the front of the breastplate. "You are of a height with him. The sleeves may be too long. The mail leggings too, and the boots too big, but we can manage. You won't actually have to fight in it, after all."

Albrecht joined her by a large chest and opened the heavy lid. He reached for a tunic that lay carefully folded on the top of the rest of Elias's clothes. He held it to his chest for a moment; his eyes closed, and then he held it out to her. "I can see already this will fit loosely."

As Elisabeth took the tunic as well as a few other items of clothing and held them up against her, Albrecht continued to search through the chest. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "What is it?"

He stood with something tiny in his fingers. It was a loop of braided dried grass. "I made it for him, years ago. I thought he must have thrown it away. But here it is." His eyes swam. He started to put the grass ring on his finger, but the dry grass tore. A sob erupted from his chest.

She put her hands on his shoulders and drew him to her. "Shhh, shhh," she comforted. "He is in your heart, where he will never change, never break, never leave you."

Hans approached her the next morning. "My man said you sent him for water last night. I will thank you, my lady, not to compromise my guards in the future."

She leveled a considering look on him. "Nothing untoward happened, did it?"

He smirked. "It did to him. He's spending the day locked up for punishment."

"He told you the truth voluntarily, but you punish him?" she asked incredulously. "You are just teaching your men to keep their mouths shut."

Hans scowled, but then cast her a speculative look. He stepped forward, first glancing about for witnesses. "I can be taught to keep my mouth shut . . . ," he led.

She returned his frank look. "You can, can you? And how do I know that?"

He sighed and stepped back. "Is my word not enough for you?" He could not help smiling as she laughed aloud. "Well, I can't blame you for your skepticism. What you don't know is that I detest the bastard, my master Reinhardt. He is a nasty son of a bitch and passes me over time and again for reward, praise or elevation. What's more . . . " He hesitated. "No, that I won't tell you."

She looked at him appraising. "You are sincere, aren't you? Aren't you afraid I will tell him?"

The man shrugged. "I hope you won't. It would get you nothing but scorn from the bastard. And . . . " He went near her again. "And I could be a good ally in your household." He reached to take a lacing at her neckline and twist it around a finger. "No reason the baron gets to be the only one to have some pleasure on the side. Once you are with child, what difference will it make?"

Elisabeth slapped his hand away. "I thought you did not find me appealing?"

Hans, who was looking at her flat chest, smiled ruefully. "Tit for tat," he murmured, chuckling over his own jest. "Let's just say I want to do to him what he did to me."

"A woman?" she asked, suddenly realizing what he implied.

He stared hard and angry into her face. "Never you mind."

Elisabeth stood still for a moment, and then reached to put her hand on his chest. He smiled and put his own hand over hers, rubbing his thumb along its side caressingly. He watched her thin lips as they moved. "What if you could get even and get gold at the same time?" she asked.

Hans lifted an eyebrow, thrusting up his lower lip as if thinking about her suggestion. "I could have you and gold?" he said skeptically. "If I had enough gold, I would be happy to forego you, my lady." He looked into her eyes. "How much gold?"

She knew she had named a good sum when his eyes widened and the pupils dilated. "And what am I to do for this gold? And how do I know it even exists?"

She stepped back away from him. "Let me just say that if I cannot produce it for you, you need not do anything."

He smiled, "That sounds fair. So what next?" He reached for her.

She skittered back out of reach. "Just do nothing. I will let you know what I need. It won't be long."

Hans stared at her, his eyes hard. "This better not be a trick. I could do you and that little lover of yours a great deal of harm."

She returned his hard gaze. "It is not a trick. You will see."

Hans extended a hand as if he was about to touch her face, but the hand detoured to a thin gold chain around her neck. He cupped the opal that hung from it. "Care to offer some surety?"

Her breath stopped. The pendant was a gift from her father and very precious to her. But it might be the thing that assured her escape. "Y-yes, take it."

She put up her hands to undo the clasp behind her neck, but the squire had his hands there first. He let them linger, close as he was now close enough to her face that he could see the flutter over the pulse in her throat. He stroked her neck with his thumbs, and then reached farther to release the necklace. He held it in the palm of one hand and examined it carefully.

"Nice. Very nice. And there is more, I take it?" His eager eyes lifted to her face.

"Yes. Even nicer than that bauble."

He settled back with his weight on one foot, considering her. "And you are willing to give it all up for that squire?"

Her lack of response satisfied his curiosity, even if wrongly. "I suppose the Baron must not be right about him. I am sorry, my lady, but you do look more like a boy than a girl."

"What do you mean, the Baron is right?" she demanded.

"That your leman is a sodomite. My master does not like sodomites. He decided to let the man leave on his own, but if he finds him here when he returns he plans to throw him to whichever guards most want to tear him to pieces." Hans's lips narrowed in a sneer.

"Why would he do that?" Elisabeth realized at once she should have played stupid, but it was too late now.

"I told you. He doesn't like them. I personally do not mind. Whatever pleasure a man wants. And a woman too. Let them. But maybe they get the Baron randy and that upsets him." Hans shrugged. "How long must I wait for these secretive plans of yours to come to fruition? Reinhardt won't stay away forever, you know."

She tried not to let him see her anxiety. "Soon. A few days. No more."

He grinned. "Good." He clamped his fingers shut on the treasure in his palm, made a mocking bow and spun on his heels. She watched him go, praying she had not made a fatal mistake.

"The Baron plans to kill you if you are still here when he returns!"

Albrecht's face grew deathly pale. "Did Hans tell you that?"

She nodded. "We need to get our plans into action. When is the soonest you can leave?"

"Tonight! I would leave right this minute but you still want me to get your brother's armor out of the manor, right? I mean, is that not your desire, my lady?"

Elisabeth looked into his eyes. "Can you do that tonight? Take it to Magdalena's and let her know what we plan."

"I will. Do you have something I can bribe the lookout with? I think I can get past the rest."

"I can give you something," she said. "But what if you pretend you are loading out your own belongings? If you did that you could leave in daylight. That would make it look less suspicious."

Albrecht hesitated. "You may be right, my lady. I will still need time to pack up Elias's gear."

"Will it all fit in his clothing chest?"

"I think so," he replied, "but what about the clothes?"

"I will put them on under my gown when I leave. No one has any reason to go into Elias's chamber. I think we can get away with it. Just wait until supper when everyone will be in the hall and the kitchen and you can sneak out by way of the outside stairway."

They stood and looked at each other silently.

"So it's really going to happen," Elisabeth said.

Albrecht took her hands. "And you are certain about this? It is terribly risky. I have to go, but you do not."

She squeezed his hands, and then let them go. "I do not want to leave. I have no idea where I will go. But I cannot stay here. Not and be Reinhardt. If I stay, I will either go mad or die, or both."

His eyes were full of sorrow. "I do not want to leave either. All my memories of Elias are here. But I can't just wait for whatever brutal death the Baron would improvise for me. I suppose at this point we are damned if we do and damned if we don't."

"That is one way of putting it," she said grimly.

Supper that day was nerve-wracking for Elisabeth. She sat on the dais trying not to keep looking toward the exits from the hall. She jumped at every dropped platter. It was a relief when at last she could lay down her eating knife, wipe her mouth on a cloth, and go up to her room claiming to need a nap. In her chamber she carefully looked out the window. The guards at the door were in the act of shutting the gates. She cupped a palm to her ear hoping she could catch the sound of hoof beats or talk. She could tell the guards were talking, laughing, but could not make out their words. Sighing, she turned from the window.

"I do not blame the little bugger. If I was one of those, I'd get the hell out before the old bastard gets back!" one of the guards, walking across the courtyard, had called back to the other.

That man, still near the gates, called back, "Well tell the squire he took all his gear and then some. Or don't bother with that last. Let the poor bugger get off with whatever he's stolen. What do we care?"

Elisabeth slumped back against her chamber wall and sighed with relief. Just days now and she would go for her "retreat" with the reclusive woman. Would Albrecht be there? Would he have the armor? Or would he leave her and get away? After all, she had offered him the armor so he could make his way in the world. All she could do was pray and wait.

Chapter Five ~ Sir Knight

"When do I get the rest of it?" Hans demanded as Elisabeth slung her drawstring bag with the barest of her needs over her shoulder in the courtyard.

"Come with me a bit. I have the rest hidden nearby." She was more concerned with getting on her way than with any chance Hans might change his mind about helping her. His greed would take care of that.

Hesitantly, he replied, "Well, all right. I didn't know I was going to have to work for this."

Her sideways glance told her he meant what he said, that he was not jesting. "It is not far. Just out of sight of the manor."

Even with the unpleasant Hans beside her Elisabeth felt more like dancing than walking as she sloughed off a life that had become too great a burden and too spare of rewards to continue. In her sack she had little. Albrecht would have already delivered Elias's armor, weapons and clothing to the holy woman's cottage. Soon Elisabeth would no longer exist, at least until she figured out what she was going to do. She found herself wishing Albrecht and she were truly lovers. At least then she could turn the uncertainty of their fates over to him. That was the compensation for being a woman, not having to make choices. It was compensation too burdensome for Elisabeth.

"What are you going to do? Where are you going?" Hans spoke into her thoughts, as if responding to them.

She shook her head. "If I even knew, I wouldn't tell you. If Reinhardt thinks to search for me, I want him to have to search near and far. So don't bother to ask."

He shrugged disinterestedly. "Whatever," he said. "Is the reward far? You aren't bringing me out here to an ambush, are you?" He stopped in his tracks, the thought just now occurring to him. He eyed the brush around them and started to pull forth his sword.

Elisabeth looked at him, surprised. "You don't trust me," she remarked.

He glared at her. "Look, you are running away from your husband and bribing me to defy him, my master, to help you. You are bribing me with what belongs to him by rights." He cocked his head, his smile sardonic. "Does that sound like a trustworthy person to you?"

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "You are right, of course."

Hans shook his head. "As innocent as that and you think you are going to make your way in the big wicked world, I suppose?"

His face revealed only scorn. "Stay here," she inserted. "I will go get the casket." Without waiting for his assent, she glanced about for landmarks, and then headed straight into a clump of trees.

Stretching his neck to keep his eye on her, Hans watched. He was just about to follow, thinking she had given him the slip, when she reappeared. She was carrying a wooden casket just large enough that she could not see over it and had to take her steps carefully.

"Here," she said perfunctorily.

He reached to take the casket from her arms. He looked about for a place to set the thing down so he could look inside. Finding nowhere he knelt and set the casket on the ground before him. "It's locked," he snapped as he tried to pull the lid up.

Without a word, she bent and reached to the side of the casket. Slipping her finger along the side, she pushed in at a spot near the rear of the box. The action released a catch and the casket opened.

There was no surprised intake of breath from Hans, but when Elisabeth peered into his face she saw a wide grin growing wider. "Jesu Christe!" he breathed. Reaching in he lifted a gold chain and weighed it in his palm. "Beautiful." He went on digging through Elisabeth's mother's jewelry, necklaces, rings, bracelets, all made of precious metals and adorned with precious stones like amber, carnelian, and lapis lazuli. "Ouch!" he cried as he found the pin of a silver brooch the hard way. He put his bleeding finger in his mouth and looked up at her. "Where's the rest?" he asked around the finger he sucked.

"The bottom is false."

He returned his attention to the box. He poked about the bottom until he was able to get a fingernail between it and the edge of the box. Lifting it, he said, "Hey, what's this?" The only thing in the bottom was a folded sheet of vellum. He opened it and stared at the writing, which was upside down.

It struck Elisabeth that he could not read. "It's instructions on where to find the gold." It had not occurred to her that he could not follow these instructions. She was glad, as it happens, because it meant she could slow his search by telling him something slightly different from what she'd written.

He glared. "What does it say?" It was clear that he thought he was being tricked somehow.

She reached for the small slip of vellum and held it up to read. "It says, 'In the bake house in the oven that is never used is a section in the back where a tile is loose. Look there," she continued, "'to find the gold,'" although it actually said, "to find another sheet of instructions." This was going to be better than she had hoped. He would have to think of a way to get the second message deciphered. That would give her and Albrecht plenty of time to get away even if he changed his mind about keeping silent.

"Oven they don't use, all right, that's not hard to remember," he said to himself. "How do I know you are not tricking me?"

She put her hands on her hips and gazed at him. Pointing to the jewelry lying on the dirt next to the casket, she said, "If I was going to trick you, I would not have given you all that. I admit I wanted to slow you down, so you would not follow me." She had almost said "us," but then she realized he believed she and Albrecht were heading off for a tryst, so it would not have mattered. "I think you should go back and make haste. What if someone else finds it first?"

Open-mouthed he stared at her. Then he leaned forward and started stuffing bits of jewelry into his clothing. The slip of vellum he hid last. Picking up the casket he stood and flung it away into the stand of ferns nearby. "Go with God," he said quickly, turned and soon was out of sight.

Elisabeth sighed. Magdalena's cottage was a good half hour's walk from here and she wasted no time making her way.

She let Albrecht be gone for almost a week before she declared that she would go to Magdalena's woodland hermitage for a retreat to think and pray about all that had happened in the past years. No one thought twice about it. As a girl she had gone to Magdalena's place any number of times, whether to truly go on retreat or just to get away from the unpleasantness of her mother's illness. Her disappearance would only become noticeable if someone happened to visit the woman or when her absence went on longer than usual. She prayed Reinhardt was not coming back any time soon. He need not even know she had gone.

At Magdalena's small cottage she looked about for the holy woman and for Albrecht. There was no sign of either of the horses she expected to find. A growing panic seized her. What might have happened?

Blessedly a matter of minutes later she heard the sound of laughter. Turning in its direction she saw the small woman come out of the trees with a smiling Albrecht at her elbow, toting firewood.

"Elisabeth!" the woman called.

"My lady, you made it!" echoed the squire. He looked about with some concern. "Are you alone?"

Elisabeth ran up to the two, smiling. "Yes, alone. I sent Hans scurrying off to find the gold I promised. It was delicious, really. But I am foot weary. Might we sit while I tell you?"

Albrecht took the firewood to the box next to the mud and clay oven set a short distance from the cottage while the reclusive woman took the younger woman's arm and led her to the neck in the shade where they had sat so very many times before.

The young people shared their tales of flight amid laughter. Finally Magdalena broke in. "It was a terrible risk you took, my children. It still is."

Subdued, the runaways looked anywhere but at the woman. She went on, "Albrecht, I need to speak with Elisabeth privately."

He jumped up, bowed, and made himself scarce.

Magdalena adjusted so she was turned more toward Elisabeth on the bench. "Have you really thought this plan through, my darling?" she asked.

Elisabeth started to nod firmly, but stopped with her lips parted to speak. With a resigned sigh, she shook her head. "No, I haven't."

"Do you know where you are going? What you are going to do?"

Leaning forward, Elisabeth reached for the grass growing at her feet and pulled some stalks out of the ground. "No, I mean, I have some ideas. I just haven't made up my mind."

Magdalena considered her for a while and then said, "You just had to get away."

Elisabeth looked up and her face was bright. "Yes, and there was no time to be cautious. Albrecht's life was at risk." She looked away. "And Reinhardt is back. He used me, more than once, and I swear I will die ere I let him do that again."

The older woman reached to rub the young woman's back. "Oh, my dear. I am so sorry." She felt the tension in Elisabeth's muscles. They did not relax as she rubbed. "You know you have family, do you not? In Lombardy, your mother's people." Magdalena reached a hand to stroke her hair.

"Yes, I have never met any of them. But I suppose that is where I will go. But, will they just turn me over to Reinhardt?" Her eyes pleaded with Magdalena.

Magdalena shook her head. "I know not."

They sat on in silence. Finally Elisabeth spoke up. In what she hoped was a lighter tone, she announced, "Hans thinks Albrecht and I are lovers. Isn't that ridiculous?"

Magdalena gave her an anxious look. "It's not impossible, you know. He's quite attached to you."

Cocking her head Elisabeth started, "But . . . but he's . . . "

The woman put her arm around her shoulders and pulled her head to her neck. "It isn't just one or the other, you know. A man like that, like your brother and his friend, they can make love to women too. It isn't about what you can do but what you want to do."

Elisabeth thought about this. "Does that mean that Albrecht will change and get married?"

She felt the woman's shake of her head. "Not likely. He knows what real love is for him now. I just mean he's not . . . well, unable to be your lover." She pulled her head away from Elisabeth's and tried to peer into her lowered face. "Are you in love with Albrecht, darling?"

Elisabeth thought about it. She sat up and crossed her arms about her chest. "No, I don't think I am. I would like to be, but there just isn't that sort of spark. The one I think means you love someone." She looked over at Magdalena. "How do you know so much about all this, I mean, love, making love, men who love other men and all?"

Magdalena stood and wandered to the back of the bench.

The younger woman continued, "Magda, did you love someone once? I mean . . . before . . . ?"

The woman gave her a resigned look. She turned her back so she was facing the shading tree behind the bench. "Yes, I did love someone once. It was a long time ago. I was young and vain. There was a lad I wanted, oh how I wanted him! But as far as I could tell, he did not know I existed. I started following him about, out of sight. I finally found him, rather like when you found your brother and Albrecht, kissing another man. I watched them all the way through, saw everything they did. I was horrified and so angry. I met my fellow on the path as he came back to the village. I told him what I saw. He begged me not to tell anyone else. He said he would do anything for me if I kept silent."

"What did you do?" Elisabeth urged when the woman's voice trailed off.

Magdalena turned back to her. There were tears on her face. "I told him I would not tell anyone if . . . he married me."

"Did he?"

Magdalena came around and sat by her again. "Yes he did. We were truly man and wife. But I made it clear he was not to go with his lover any more. It broke his heart. He took his own life."

"Oh no, dear, dear Magda!"

"That is why I became a recluse, in penance. I selfishly stole a man's heart and soul. If I live to be one hundred I shall never forgive myself. I can only pray that God is one who understands about love, all kinds of love."

Elisabeth nodded thoughtfully. "I always just accepted what you said about love, because you were kind and wise. I see now you have a reason to believe what you said. Love should be free, should be a gift. It should never be forced. I don't think it can be." She hesitated. "No, I am not in love with Albrecht. Even if he wanted to love me, it just would not be right. I don't know why not. Something just tells me there is someone out there somewhere for me. I don't know where or when I will meet him, but I shall. And then I will know."

Magdalena smiled sadly and put her hand on the young woman's cheek. "You are well on your way to wisdom yourself, darling. You are right. There is someone out there, I am sure. And something tells me that when it comes you will indeed know."

Albrecht hovered just out of earshot. Elisabeth called, "Don't just stand there! Tell me where the horses are."

"God, it's heavy!" Elisabeth cried as Albrecht and Magdalena struggled to redistribute the weight of the chain mail coat on her shoulders.

"You get used to it," Albrecht reassured. "Wait until you try the helm!"

It was the next morning, and Elisabeth and Albrecht were readying to leave Magdalena's tiny hermitage. The rest of the day before Magdalena had plied her needle making adjustments to Elias's clothing so they would fit his sister, though in fact there had been less need than she anticipated. Harder was how to deal with the armor, something becoming apparent now that Elisabeth had the mail coat on.

"Your arms are too short," Albrecht said as she shook out her arms so the links would fall into place. "And your legs too, even though you are almost as tall as Elias."

"Women are shaped differently from men," Magdalena observed.

The squire gave her a look. "No, really?" There was a humorous sparkle in his eye.

"Can they be shortened? Not my arms and legs, the mail?"

He looked at the older woman. "Do you have any sort of metal cutters?" When she shook her head, he went on. "We will have to wait until we can get some. I had not thought of it. In the meantime, let's hope you don't trip, my lady."

"Now the helm?" Elisabeth asked.

He shook his head. "We should wait until you are on your horse."

"I think you should let her try it while she still has two feet on the ground. On the horse she might lose her balance."

"You are right," Albrecht responded. He leaned to lift the heavy metal helm from where it sat on the ground. "No, don't lean over. You could break your neck."

Magdalena had shorn Elisabeth's hair the evening before. The young woman exulted in how cool and free she felt. Now she stood with the mail hood covering what was left. She stood straight, as the man had advised.

He lifted the helm over her head and slowly lowered it as far as it would go.

"Ouch! The mail is biting into my scalp!" Elisabeth cried.

Magdalena quickly snatched up the quilted coif that lay nearby. "She needs this under her mail hood."

Already taking the helm off her, Albrecht apologized. "I forgot that. I am so sorry, my lady."

Elisabeth chided, "You better start calling me 'my lord' so you get used to it."

She pushed her mail hood back so Magdalena could fit the quilted head covering over her hair, tying the strings under her chin.

"No, bring the strings around to the back of her neck. Otherwise the knot will get uncomfortable under her chin." Albrecht lifted his own bearded chin to show where the strings crossed and wrapped around to the back.

With her mail hood back in place, Albrecht lifted her helm over Elisabeth's head again. "It is heavy. I don't have to wear it every minute, do I?"

"No, just in battle, or if you anticipate battle. And I will put the gorget on next time. That will even out the weight. Mostly you just carry the thing, strapped to your saddle."

Elisabeth tried to shrug her shoulders but the helm was weighing too heavily to allow her to do that. Nevertheless she felt exhilarated. "Why do I feel like I've done all this before?"

Magdalena smiled. "Perhaps it's not so much that you have done it before but that you were meant to."

Albrecht stepped back to survey his handiwork. He took a deep startled breath. The two women looked quizzically at him. "You look so much like Elias." He turned and walked a distance away to cover his sudden surge of grief.

She did look just like her brother as she stood there in his clothes and armor. She did not have Elias's short beard showing between the cheek plates of his helm, but her form, already angular and now sheathed in the thick layer of clothes, padded jerkin, and mail, and the bearing with which she held herself made her truly her brother's twin. She looked like a very young man.

Looking from Elisabeth to the squire, Magdalena said, "Wait here. I have something for you."

Albrecht took the minute that Magdalena needed to retrieve some items from her cottage to regain his composure. He turned back just as Magdalena came out.

"Here, if you are a pilgrim, then you need a pilgrim's cross." Magdalena reached out a hand and put a cross on a leather thong into Elisabeth's. "And you need a cloak."

Albrecht and Elisabeth stood and gaped at the item the woman held up and shook out. It was a cloak with armholes and which must be pulled on over one's head. As she held it by its shoulders, the two were able to see that it was very white wool with a red cross sewn onto one side of the upper breast.

"A crusader's cloak!" Elisabeth cried. Her eyes lifted to Magdalena's, full of gratitude and awe. She had already removed her helm carefully, and now she strung the cross around her neck. Magdalene bunched up the cloak so she could put it over her head. She let it fall, and Elisabeth slipped her arms in the armholes. Magdalena stepped forward to shake out the garment so it would hang right.

"Why did you make me a pilgrim's cloak? You know I am not planning to go on crusade for real."

Magdalena shook her head. "Let's just say I wanted to see you in one." Her look was unreadable.

Elisabeth raised her arms as Albrecht reached around her to put the heavy sword belt on her. Buckling it he looked up into her eyes. "You truly are Elias," he murmured. He shook his head as though to clear it. He stepped back and tried to joke, "Except you are missing something important."

Elisabeth twisted from side to side examining herself. "What? The gorget?"

Albrecht and Magdalena exchanged conspiratorial looks. "You have to be born with what he is talking about," Magdalena chuckled. "Oh, that reminds me, how are you going to pee?"

Elisabeth stood nonplussed. "I suppose I could be a very shy young knight?" she proposed.

"You wouldn't be the first," Albrecht responded. "I can let it out you have some sort of disfigurement . . . down there . . . and are ashamed to let anyone see it."

Magdalena had a most un-nun-like look on her face. "You could tell others the disfigurement is that it is massive!" she quipped wickedly.

The other two stared at her surprised, and then both fell into laughter. "No, I'd better not. Then everyone will want to see it."

Elisabeth's lips spread in a smile of complete satisfaction. "This feels so right. I feel like I am fully dressed for the first time." She swung one leg and then the other, reveling in the freedom of no skirts. "I feel like I am completely me for the first time."

Magdalena went up to her and stood on tiptoe to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. The two women looked with understanding into each other's eyes.

The horses were saddled, and Albrecht was mounted on Carlchen. Elisabeth stood fully armored now except for her helm, which was secured to Gauner's saddle. A third horse was piled with what supplies they had accumulated.

She held Magdalena's hands and looked into her face. Her voice broke as she said, "I can never repay you for all you have done for me, have meant to me. What are you going to do now?"

Magdalena glanced about. "Why, stay here and keep praying for forgiveness," she said.

"What will you do if they question you about where I have gone?"

"I will tell them you gave me the slip and ran off with that scoundrel over there." She smiled in Albrecht's direction. "If they get difficult, I will just move my little homestead somewhere else." She put her fingertips to Elisabeth's cheek and wiped away tears. "None of that now, Sir Knight. If you weep the other knights will beat you up."

The young woman who stood in armor tried to smile. As Magdalena said a prayer of blessing over her, she nodded. She turned to see that Albrecht had carefully led Gauner so she could step up on the wooden bench to mount. Gratefully, she stepped up onto the bench, not without feeling anew the weight of all the armor, and mounted her horse. Unable to speak, she looked one last time at Magdalena, turning her horse to follow Albrecht through the wooded path to the road beyond.

At the road she halted Gauner. Albrecht looked back concerned.

"I need to be a girl for one last time," she explained. He could see tears running down her cheeks.

"Boys weep too, my lord," he told her. "We just don't let others see it."

Elisabeth gradually began to get used to the weight of all her armor as she rode Gauner along the muddy road to the east. She was in the lead now, as the two traveled as a knight and his squire. In the few encounters they had on the road, those passing them in the opposite direction simply saluted and made humble greetings. When two young women riding in a hay cart sneaked looks at Elisabeth and giggled, the object of their ogling was thrilled.

"They thought I am a man!" she announced to Albrecht.

"It doesn't surprise me. But there is one thing we need to work on," he replied.

"What's that?"

"Your voice. The way you talk. You don't sound girlish so much as just not masculine. Let me think, what can we do about that?" He thought a few moments, then looked up with a broad smile. "I know. Swear like a man, my lord! It will be hard to stay sounding female if you get in the habit of speaking coarsely."

Riding along more or less side by side with him, Elisabeth asked, "You mean like this? Bugger off, varlet!"

Albrecht slapped his thigh, leaned his head back to erupt into delighted laughter. "That is it! What a hoot to hear it."

Elisabeth smiled back. "You scurvy son of a poxy whore! I will slice you from cock to chin, so I will, and you can use your stinking guts as a rope to hang your miserable self."

Albrecht had to hang on to his saddle's pommel to keep from slipping off. He screamed with laughter.

"Take that, demon spawn, and may you spend eternity in a vat of excrement up to your eyes!"

"Enough, enough," Albrecht pleaded. "You're killing me!" He halted Carlchen and sat wiping his eyes and catching his breath. "You are too good at it. Practice like that, but I would not advise ever actually saying that sort of thing to anyone. Not if you want to keep your body and soul tethered to each other." He sighed. "God, I needed that." He looked up. "My lord."

"You know, I think you should shave me," Elisabeth said, stroking her chin.

"Shave you? Albrecht asked, startled. "You can't grow a beard."

Elisabeth looked over at him. "We have to make it look like I can and would if you do not shave me."

"But how about when you go back to, you know, being a woman?"

An odd speculative look crossed her face. "I'll worry about that when it happens."

The two rode along the road that would ultimately bring them to the Danube where they could get passage on a river barge downstream to Austria. Throughout the journey they could see the imposing Alps rising on their right, between Bavaria and Italy.

At a crossroads, Elisabeth let her horse fall back so she could ask Albrecht, "Is this the road we would take to Italy?"

"I think so. I think this one leads to the Brenner Pass. Why, my lord? Are you thinking of going to your Lombard kin after all?"

The look in her eyes was far away. "No, not that. Just curious."

Elisabeth continued to practice her masculine voice. Albrecht cautioned her not to lower it. "You sound like you are faking it," he said.

"Well, I am faking it," she protested.

"Yes, my lord, but you don't want to sound like it."

When they camped, as tired as they were, Albrecht made her practice her already formidable sword skills but with the addition of learning to maneuver in the armor. She was beginning to notice that every day it was easier. She also felt freer and stronger than she ever had felt.

They came toward a densely wooded patch where the road disappeared in the gloom. "Put your helm on, my lord," Albrecht told her. "There may be brigands."

She looked ahead with interest. "Really?" She was grinning.

It was harrowing to ride into the woods where the trees' branches were so interlaced that little more than scraps of the sun's light made it to where they slowly advanced.

"Ahead," Albrecht abruptly spoke.

She followed his gaze to where three men stood in the road, obscured in the darkness but still identifiable. "Brigands?"

"Probably," Albrecht replied. He drew his sword and continued to ride slowly toward the men. He dropped the packhorse's lead so he could lift his wooden shield to his chest. Elisabeth followed suit, her heart racing with anticipation of her first real encounter.

It was not easy to see, with the gloom and the narrow view from the helms. The two rode steadily forward, keeping their eyes on the trio on the road. Albrecht called, "You, there, make way for the Lord of Winterkirche!"

The men appeared to consult with one another. One lifted a bow and fired an arrow toward them, but it flew wide. The men suddenly turned and dashed away into the thick of the woods.

"Well, damn and hell," Elisabeth swore.

Albrecht did not respond. He looked puzzled, then turned to look behind them. "Damn and hell indeed. The pack horse." He whirled Carlchen and spurred him back the way they came.

Elisabeth turned Gauner in time to see their packhorse's arse disappear into the thicket alongside the road.

"Two, I think," Albrecht shouted back to her.

She spurred Gauner into a run and caught up with Albrecht. She let Gauner follow Carlchen off the road into the trees. Gauner, a superior mount to Carlchen, overtook him and spurted forward. She lifted her sword to strike as the two came up to the stolen packhorse and the thieves.

One man shouted something to his companion and dashed ahead on his own. Elisabeth leaned down as she rode past the man who gripped the packhorse's lead rope. He turned to glare at her, starting to raise a short sword. She brought her arm down with all her might. Her sword bit into his shoulder where it was attached to his neck. He screamed and loosed the pack animal, falling as Elisabeth shot past him.

Breathless she slowed and turned her horse to ride back and finish the man off. She saw the squire dismount and walk to the screaming man. As she rode forward she saw him raise his own sword and bring it down on the man's uncovered head.

Halting Gauner, Elisabeth slid off the saddle and came up next to Albrecht. She looked down at the man they had killed. His shoulder was a bloody mass of carved raw meat, but it was his head and face that she fixed her appalled gaze on. His skull was split from his crown to his mouth. She could see his brains as they oozed out. One of his eyes lay out and down the side of his face. She quickly pulled off her helm, turned, doubled up and vomited. Albrecht reached to hold her shoulders as she heaved.

Standing up Elisabeth wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her chain mail hauberk. It scratched her face, and the vomit stung and made her wince. "I . . . I'm sorry. It's just that . . . that was my first kill."

Albrecht looked at her, his eyes distant. "I know. Mine too." He turned away from her and heaved. It was her turn to hold his shoulders.

Just then they both heard a zip and saw a crossbow bolt bury itself in the eye of the packhorse. Its head jerked back with the impact and it toppled over sideways.

Raising her sword, Elisabeth began to run forward, cursing, but Albrecht reached out a hand and snatched at her. "Stop! There's no point."

She slowed and came back to him. "I suppose you are right. The best that could happen is that I get a bolt in my own eye."

Albrecht nodded, his shoulders slumped. "We had better get back on the road. No sense standing here like targets."

She whipped her head around but could see no bandits. "What about the horse? The supplies?"

"Unless you want to eat the horse, leave it to them. As far as the supplies . . . " He shrugged. "I didn't see the packs still on the horse. The other man must've unstrapped them while we were still advancing on the other three."

She followed him back to their mounts. He helped her up and then dragged himself up onto this own mount.

As they returned to the road she realized she still had her sword in her hand. She raised it to sheath it and saw the blood. Seeing her tremble he snapped, "Here!"

Startled, she looked over to see that he had tossed her his neck kerchief. She snatched it out of the air.

"Clean your sword," he said, realizing that he had successfully shocked her out of a fit.

The kerchief was clotted with blood and worse already, but she wiped away as much as she could before sheathing her sword.

He watched her and knew he could chide her saying, "And you wanted to kill Paynim? Good thing you were never really serious."

They camped, though they no longer had their tent or bedrolls, when they found themselves where a small pier jutted out into the flow of a huge river. "The Danube?" Elisabeth asked.

"Yes," Albrecht said. "Almost there."

She gave him an odd look, but did not say any more until the light had gone and they were ready to roll up in their cloaks and sleep by their campfire.

"Albrecht, I have to tell you something," she began.

He stopped trying to get comfortable on the ground and looked up expectantly. "My lord?"

Hesitantly, she continued. "I want to keep going." He did not interrupt, so she went on. "I love this. I love the freedom, the adventure, and the independence, even the fighting. I don't want to be a woman any more. I want to be a man."

Albrecht sat up and wrapped his arms around his bent knees, his eyes focused on Elisabeth. "I don't understand."

She looked up and straight into his face. "I think you do understand."

He considered, and then asked, "Are you saying you want to persist in the masquerade? To try to live your life as a man, a fake one?"

She shrugged. "More than that. I want to stay a knight. I want to go to the Holy Land. I want to do what my brother was to do. I want to fight Paynim and to make it to Jerusalem and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher." She looked down and plucked at the crusader's cloak she wore. "I want this to mean something, to be real." She glanced up, then firmed her jaw and said in a stern voice, "I don't just want that. I am going to do that." Her voice softened. "And I want you to go with me, to be my squire."

Albrecht gazed at her for some time. He suddenly got to his feet and bowed to her where she sat on the ground. "My lord, I would be honored to continue to be your squire."

Elisabeth jumped up and they locked arms. Her face was lit with anticipation, but at the same time with earnestness and anxiety. "Thank you, Albrecht," she said breathlessly. Then she added, "Deus lo volt. God wills it."

Albrecht grinned. "I just hope He knows that."

Chapter Six ~ Ida

Days later after threading the deep gorges carved in the mountains by the River Danube on a small river craft, Elisabeth and Albrecht heard the captain announce, "Mölk ahead. All departing ready yourselves."

As they saddled their horses, Elisabeth looked at the town growing closer on the south bank. She could see some sort of stone structure under construction. Glancing at one of the other passengers, she found her quizzical expression answered by the man. "That's the Margrave's new monastery. They say once it is built he will move his residence somewhere else."

One of the crew interjected, "Well I don't care. Even if he and his court move away, it's not like there is no other traffic on the river. Especially with you crusader knights going back to the Holy Land to finish what you started."

Elisabeth marveled that he was indicating her when he said "crusader knight," and she looked down at the red cross sewn on her tabard.

"God wills it," she murmured. She could only hope that God would forgive her masquerade.

Masquerade or no, Elisabeth continued to marvel over how readily everyone she came in contact with accepted her as a man. A young man, almost a boy, but a man all the same. As she and Albrecht waited outside the hall of Margrave Leopold she whispered her surprise to Albrecht. Since they had been among other armed men, many of them wearing the cross of the crusader, Albrecht had taken more care to walk behind her and to defer to her in every way. He introduced her as "Elias, Ritter of Winterkirche."

"I have only seen one person look oddly at me when you introduced me. That court official, the one who left to ask the Margrave if he would see us."

Albrecht glanced about to assure himself they were not overheard. "I noticed that too, my lord. I suppose we will learn the truth soon."

Elisabeth enjoyed the playacting that was a survival tactic for her now. She made a point of watching how other knights stood, how they laughed and talked, and how they treated their equals and their inferiors.

She tried a swagger, leaned indolently against the wall, cleaned her ear with her finger, and belched when she needed to. It helped her distract her worry about whether Reinhardt had seen through their ruse or whether perhaps Hans played them false. While on the road she was confident they had the jump on any pursuit, but now, in Mölk for who knew how long, her anxiety about pursuit returned. The sooner she and Albrecht could get on the journey to Constantinople, the calmer she would feel, she guessed.

The door to the hall creaked open and the court official bowed to her. "My Lord Elias, their Graces will see you now."

Elisabeth started to ask if Albrecht could come in with her, but thought better of it. She simply held her head high and walk past the man, letting Albrecht take the initiative. She heard his armored footsteps on the stone flags behind her and smiled to herself.

The hall was a huge and elegantly appointed room that held no furniture save one table on a dais. Though the only one, the table was covered with what looked like fine white linen with gold embroidery, and the candlesticks and wine goblets on the table were likewise made of gold. The three people who sat behind the table were garbed in the richest finery Elisabeth had ever seen.

None of the three were looking at her as she approached the dais and went down on one knee, her head bowed. She had time enough only to see the profile of a young clean-shaven man not many years older than she. He was strikingly handsome, with softly flowing fair hair and strong cheekbones. There was a cleric of some rank on the man's left. On his right a woman was obscured to Elisabeth's view as she leaned behind him to speak to the cleric.

"Your Graces, bishop, may I present the Ritter Elias von Winterkirche," announced the man who had brought her and Albrecht into their presence.

The young man turned toward Elisabeth and said in a warm and welcoming voice, "Ritter Elias, how pleased and surprised we are to see you!" He sounded quite sincere.

With her head still bowed, she replied in her best male voice, "Your Grace, I am gratified for your welcome. You are too generous."

She heard a chair pushed back and a man's step first on the dais and then on the stone flags. Fabulously be-ringed hands reached down to hold and raise her by her arms. Astonished, she looked up and into the Margrave's smiling face. His blue eyes sparkled. He still held her arms, and he leaned to kiss her on both cheeks.

"My lord, we were delighted to learn that the news we received from Bavaria was untrue!"

"B-beg pardon, your Grace?" was all Elisabeth could muster as a reply.

The Margrave looked a little abashed. "My dear young sir, we had heard you had died!"

Impulsively, Elisabeth answered, "Good my lord, I think it was my twin sister's passing that was mistakenly reported as my own."

Leopold III looked back into her face with concern. Letting loose of her arms, he made the sign of the cross and said a quiet prayer. "I am so sorry. May God bless her and keep her to his bosom. And may Our Holy Mother ease you in your loss." He looked up at the table on the dais. "Do you hear that, Mother? It was his sister, not he. Good news but yet so sad."

Elisabeth followed the Margrave's eyes and then froze. The woman on the dais sat forward with her hands clasped prayerfully on the table, looking with sympathy into Elisabeth's face. She was as fair as her son, the Margrave, seemed hardly older than he, and Elisabeth immediately saw why this woman, Ida, Margravina of Austria, was called the greatest beauty in Europe. Her skin was smooth and soft, her blue eyes luminous, and her Cupid's bow mouth was red as strawberries. Her hair, where it showed underneath her loose veil of some delicate Eastern stuff, was almost a white gold as it cascaded in soft curls to frame an angel's face and spill out upon white shoulders. Elisabeth thought, "I could die in her arms," then panicked, afraid she had said it aloud.

The sweet, bell-like voice said, "Your Grace, my lord bishop, can we not have a prayer for this young knight's sister?"

Elisabeth caught an amused smile on Leopold's face that turned solemn at his mother's words. He knelt next to Elisabeth while up on the dais the Margravina stepped back from her chair and knelt before the bishop who stood, one hand raised, and spoke a prayer in Latin. Elisabeth discovered she had knelt as well, though she could not bow her head. She could not look away from the glorious woman on the dais.

"In nominee Patri et fili et spiritu sancti, amen," the holy man finished.

Elisabeth expected a hand under her elbow to help her rise, but it flashed through her mind that men did not do that for other men, unless they were old or infirm. She stood and said gratefully, "Your Graces, bishop, I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you honor me and my family so."

The bishop, seated again, said in the deep sonorous voice he had used for the prayer, "Young knight, I see you wear the cross of the crusade. Are you then ready to take the vow to serve God and remove the godless Paynim from the ground upon which our Savior trod those many years ago?"

She bowed her head. "I am, your Grace." She looked up into Ida's eyes and thrilled to see the pride and approval there. "Let me die at your feet, lady," she knew she said only in her heart this time.

The Margrave slapped her on her mailed shoulder. "Good, good. Though you are not a subject of ours, we shall be glad to add our blessing to your act of faith and honor."

"Thank you, my lord."

The Margravina asked, "But did you not know, the Archbishop of Milan, Anselm, has already left with thousands of the faithful from Lombardy?"

Elisabeth paled. "Surely, your Grace, there will be other parties?"

Leopold, still standing at her shoulder, smiled and reassured, "In fact, good sir, we have just received a message from Conrad, the Constable to his imperial highness, Henry, that he will pass through Austria with his own contingent and shall come here to Mölk to see the new monastery works and accept our hospitality ere he moves on through Italy. You are the Emperor's man, are you not? How more fitting can it be you and your good squire should join him?"

The bishop inserted, "With your leave, your Grace, I shall include young Elias in the oath-taking ceremony we plan for Conrad's arrival."

Expansively, the handsome young Margrave nodded and spread his arms wide. "Splendid. Splendid. Just so." He turned to beam at Elisabeth. Unexpectedly he leaned to her and whispered, "I am flattered that you have adopted my style of being clean shaven. I should think on campaign the fewer places for vermin to live, the better!" He laughed at Elisabeth's nonplussed look. "Good lad," he said, and clapped her on the shoulder again. He looked at the servant. "Johann, see to it this noble knight has what he needs for bed and refreshment for his wait here in Mölk." To Elisabeth he invited, "I hope you will take time to tour the building we are doing for a great monastery. It shall in time take the land on which this building stands as a monument to the glory of Our Lord."

The Margravina rose from her seat and went to the edge of the dais. Seeing this, Elisabeth rushed forward and put out a hand. The older woman gratefully accepted it as she stepped down. When Elisabeth did not release her hand but instead stood staring down at her face, she chuckled and conveyed her own delicate hand toward the young knight's lips. Elisabeth took the cue and pressed a soft but reverent kiss on the back of her hand.

"May God go with you, brave sir."

Elisabeth lowered to one knee to accept the lady's blessing.

As she and Albrecht backed out of the hall, then turned at the door, she heard Leopold's voice. "Do you ever tire of young knights falling in love with you at first sight, my dear mother?"

The Margravina replied with a smile in her voice, "No, never, and the less so as I grow older. And I will have you know your beloved father did not either. He knew my true faith and . . . "

The door shut on her words. Albrecht gave Elisabeth an amused grin as the servant handed them over into the hands of a page. She had her fingers on her lips, touching the same skin that touched Ida's. "So is that how it is, my lord? Welcome to love."

The narrow streets of Mölk were as busy as the Margrave's courtyard, full not only of the bustling business of a noble city but of many craftsmen in their aprons and belts with builders' tools, and occasional men in crusaders' tabards with their own households. The massive horses of the knights made passing by them on foot a risky affair. But each knight nodded his head in greeting to Elisabeth as he passed. Albrecht opined, "Methinks your guise is a success, my lord."

Elisabeth glanced down at the tunic and cloak she had donned once she and Albrecht had disposed of their heavy armor. A strip of cloth binding it flattened what little she possessed of a bosom. "Methinks people see what they expect," she replied thoughtfully. "They see the armor and the cross and need look no harder. Shall we find a tavern and have a drink and some food?"

Glancing about Albrecht spied a tavern sign and pointed to it. "The Pig in Barley, I'll warrant," he interpreted the wordless sign that hung over the door. "Let's see if we can even get a place to sit."

In the dark tavern the two peered about at the noisy, smelly crowd until their eyes adjusted. "The only places I see are over there on the far wall, my lord. With those rather disreputable looking men."

Elisabeth did not have to stretch to see over the heads of other customers. Her height gave her that advantage. She had trouble seeing the men clearly, however, as they were in a far corner and there were no lamps or candles there. "Let's go introduce ourselves."

Elisabeth used her presence, her elbows and sharp looks to force her way around to that table, Albrecht sailing along in her wake. She stopped at the side of the table nearest the wall and bowed her head briefly. "Good sirs, may I beg a place on the bench for my squire and me to rest our journey-weary arses?"

Four pairs of eyes looked up from tankards to stare back at her. Only one set did not look openly hostile. This man looked wary, but there was a spark in his eye that promised friendliness. In a merry voice, the man said, "I think I can persuade my companions here to welcome you both. Can I not?" He was a muscular man of some height from the look of him, though he was seated. He had long brown hair, a close-cropped dark beard and a moustache that was waxed and pointed at the ends. He surveyed his companions with dark clear eyes.

The grudging nods came from an assortment of men of seemingly disparate origins. One was dark of skin, hair and eye and wore a thick beard and a hat with a long pheasant feather in it. The next was clearly a Northman, with pale unkempt hair that was adorned with gold and ivory beads. His ice-blue eyes glared at Elisabeth. He had a drooping moustache but no beard. A scar across his face only cemented in the permanent scowl she guessed he wore. The final man was drawn in on himself and looked away as soon as their eyes met. He was clean-shaven and had long lank brown hair. His squint did not permit anyone to see the color of his eyes. He was not in armor and his developed chest, shoulders and arms suggested an archer.

"They are delighted to have you join us," the first man said humorously. "Sit and make our acquaintance that we may make yours."

As Elisabeth slipped onto the bench next to the friendly man, she looked up and saw the man with the feathered cap glaring at her. He growled.

"Now is that any way to treat our new brothers, Ruggiero?" the cheerful man asked.

Elisabeth grinned. "The blackguard doesn't frighten me, my good man." She jumped at the blow in her ribs from Albrecht's elbow.

The dark man growled again and started to rise, his hands on the table before him, his elbows bent and his foul breath making her wince as he leaned menacingly across the space between them.

Albrecht put a strong hand on her shoulder. "Please, my good fellow, forgive the rash words of my master. He is beyond reason with fatigue."

Ruggiero continued to glare at Elisabeth, but slowly subsided back to sit on his bench. The Northman next to him smirked at the Italian.

"My name is Ranulf. I am the leader of this illustrious band of former mercenaries. You have incurred the wrath of Ruggiero Orso Marrone. That nasty son of a whore there is Ragnar Haraldssen from Daneland, and that taciturn fellow is Thomas the Silent."

Elisabeth nodded to each man. "I am Elias von Winterkirche and this is my squire, Albrecht."

The grizzled men exchanged looks. Ranulf raised his eyebrows but chose not to comment on the young knight's introduction not only of himself but of his squire as well.

Albrecht waved to a serving wench for wine.

Elisabeth turned to the smiling leader of the troop. "You have no nickname, my lord?" she asked, earning a snort of derisive laughter from Ruggiero and the Dane.

The latter explained in a gravelly voice, "He is called the Peacemaker."

Ranulf the Peacemaker scowled at the man with his pale hair and eyes. "It is a jest, I assure you," he said menacingly. Turning to Elisabeth he asked, "So I see by the red cross sewn to your tunic that you are a crusader. As young as you are you must be newly pledged to that endeavor."

The wench arrived with the wine for her and her squire. Elisabeth started to reach for her purse, but Albrecht grabbed her wrist under the table. He withdrew a coin from his own purse and put it into the woman's hand. Elisabeth appraised the woman's considerable cleavage and made a smacking sound with her lips. The wench shook her head and walked away. Elisabeth caught Albrecht's rolling eyes as he looked away. She decided she should tone down the crude man act.

"A fine lusty young fellow, you are, my friend!" Ranulf clapped her hard on the shoulder. She silently thanked Albrecht for his insistence she wear padding to make her shoulders look broader and more masculine. "I would be careful with Greta, though. If you piss her off you are likely to find a dead mouse in your potage. As it happens," he went on, changing the subject, "we are bound for the crusade as well."

"All of you?" she asked, taking a swallow of her wine.

It was the Italian who supplied, "Si, tutti."

"We have plenty to wish absolution for," added the Dane. The beads and rings in his hair clattered as he shook his head. "Not Thomas there. As far as we know. He's not saying."

The silent man lowered his head even more as Ruggiero and Ranulf laughed.

"He may be as white as the fairest virgin's character or the very Beast himself, for all anyone knows," the leader observed, fingering one waxed moustache tip.

Lifting her cup in a toast, Elisabeth proclaimed, "Well, here's to all of us on our holy quest. May the Paynim piss themselves with fear when they hear we are coming."

Even silent Thomas lifted his cup to share in the group's "Death to all enemies of God!"

Elisabeth was relieved to catch approval in Albrecht's look. "Where are you all from?"

Ranulf's eyebrows hitched as the other men scowled at her. "Young lord, men like us have no country, no family, and no past." He responded to Ragnar's noise of protest. "Except Ragnar. He is a proud son of Harald Some-bastard's-son and a Dane. Or so he claims."

Repressing her curiosity to know why these men were so loath to speak of their pasts, she asked instead, "Are you all waiting for the Constable to the Emperor to arrive?"

Ranulf signaled for more wine. "Just so," he affirmed. "We hope to attach ourselves to the imperial faction."

The wench brought a pitcher of wine and refilled all six cups. As she passed by Thomas she attempted to veer away but he caught her by the waist and put his nose down into the cleft of her breasts and made a slobbering sound. Greta punched him in the side of his head and swore like a sailor. Thomas pulled his head away and grinned evilly at her. The woman complained, "Disgusting!" as she swabbed out her bodice with the rag she carried.

Ranulf turned back to see the young knight's puzzled expression. "Thomas likes mice in his potage," he explained. Lifting his cup to his lips he commented, "You cannot be staying at this tavern. There is no room."

Elisabeth shook her head. "No, we are bedded down in the castle."

Ragnar and Ruggiero made mock approving noises as they glanced at each other. Ranulf looked sincerely impressed. "My lord, you are indeed a nobleman then." He cast a questioning eye at his companions. "I trust you will be willing then to cover the cost of our wine?" He made a signal to his men with his head.

"But of course!" Elisabeth proclaimed. "But you are going?" Ranulf and the other three men had downed their wine and were standing.

"We have urgent business to attend to. My deepest gratitude to you, my young lord. May we meet again."

Ragnar chuckled. "Deus lo volt."

Elisabeth looked after the band as they jostled their way roughly through the packed tavern to the door.

Greta hurried over. "Who is going to pay for their wine?" she demanded.

"How much is it, my saucy lass?" Elisabeth asked. She paled as the woman answered and held out her hand. She nodded to Albrecht. "Pay her," she grumbled.

Albrecht sighed and pulled out his purse. He counted several coins into the woman's dirty palm.

"That was almost all we had left," the squire revealed when the woman had sidled her way back through the press.

"I have a lot to learn," Elisabeth observed.

"You said it, not me," Albrecht responded, adding a rueful "my lord."

Elisabeth and Albrecht did not see the band of former mercenaries again as they waited for the Constable and the ensuing departure of the Imperial and Austrian contingent to the crusade. Albrecht somehow managed to come up with a few more coins, but if they stuck to the castle they had all the food and drink they wanted.

Elisabeth was watchful of all the new arrivals in Mölk. As each band rode in or boatload alighted, she began to think that perhaps she and Albrecht had gotten clean away. She was still uneasy, wondering how she would manage to maintain her ruse for the foreseeable future. She had Albrecht shave her every morning, a treatment she did not enjoy, but she was oddly pleased at the result. Her chin became rougher and some bristly hairs began to grow out, though not remotely like a beard. Being that they were in a castle, bedding down in the hall at night, and that no one undressed to sleep, she had few worries about her disguise being seen through. There were garderobes about where she could relieve herself. No one bathed. She was happy just to be one of the stinking company.

Albrecht lectured her soundly after the near disaster of the tavern. "The squire always pays. You do not serve yourself. You do not acknowledge me to others. In fact, I should not have even sat down with you."

"Tell me one thing," she begged as she acknowledged his correction. "Why did I get in trouble when I used crude language with that Italian fellow?"

Albrecht winced. "You only talk like that with men you know and have been accepted by. You insulted the man. He would have been in his rights to call you out to defend your assertion that he was a 'blackguard.'" He shrugged. "Just go slow. Watch men and how they interact. That's the best way to learn."

Elisabeth kept her eye out for glimpses of the Margravina. If anything, her soulful glances and sighs helped her disguise as a man. Many of the other knights she met teased her about her infatuation. She blushed deeply when they did, but this only made the other men laugh the harder. Nor was she the only "young man" so smitten. The Margravina basked in the adulation, but she did not actively seek or encourage it. She remained aloof.

For his part the Margrave mixed with the soldiers in his hall. He made much of not being able to go with them to the Holy Land, but he regretfully shared that he was needed where he was, to ensure that all the military force would remain to keep the borderlands free of strife. It was clear his regret was sincere.

Elisabeth learned quickly from her observation of the knights around her. That they accepted her as one of them continued to astound her.

Albrecht was less surprised. "I think you are right. They are not looking for a woman when they look at you. They just see a very young man. And you were right. The shaving helps."

Her observations did not extend to every place the other men went. When she was invited to go and find a bordello she demurred, giving the excuse that she was pledged to her lady, the Margravina, and would not dishonor that pledge. The other knights seemed to eat this up. It fueled the taunts they delighted in casting on her.

There were other knights who brought Elisabeth into their fold, knights of more rigid character, who praised her for her steadfastness in not going off to commit sins of the flesh. "Just because our quest will cleanse away sins does not mean that we should commit them willfully," one older knight counseled. "You keep yourself pure, young Elias," he said, "and God will reward you in heaven."

Leopold appeared to have noticed as well. He was amused but also pleased by the young knight's good behavior. The Margrave was a saintly man himself, strictly observant of the commandments, dedicated not only to his lovely mother but also to his wife and young children.

Elisabeth's daydreams-and night dreams for that matter-about the radiant Ida remained chaste. At no time did she let her fantasies reach the truly sensual level. The most bodily imagining she had was the feel of what she thought the Margravina's lips would feel like on her own. Not being a musician she could not join in with other young knights' writing and performing of chansons to the lady, which she seemed to enjoy. All Elisabeth could do was sit, gaze and sigh.

The Feast of All Hallows came and went with no sign of Conrad, though he was expected to arrive any day. Some of the knights, a motley collection of Frankish, Flemish, Germans and Austrians, began to fret that if Conrad took much longer, they would all be stuck in Mölk with the Alpine passes impassable in the winter weather. Fortunately they had an outlet for their impatience in the form of daily fighting practice, something of which Elisabeth and Albrecht took full advantage.

Elisabeth found herself embraced by a small cadre of knights of a half generation her senior. She came to their attention one early morning as she and Albrecht practiced swordplay in the castle courtyard. Neither had noticed the gathering group who watched as they matched blow for blow as they had with her brother not so very long before. They were startled when cheers rose from the sidelines after a particularly hearty blow Elisabeth landed with her sword on Albrecht's teardrop-shaped shield cracked it in half.

A big man with a bushy black beard and likewise bushy black eyebrows sauntered over and put one hand on the shoulder of each combatant. "Well delivered, young Elias! And, you, my friend, need a new shield. Without it, you are a sitting duck for whatever the Paynim devils have in store for you!"

He introduced himself as Johannes Schwarzes-Tier or "Black Beast." His two companions were Alain de Bourges and Gerhardt von Regenheim. Alain offered to send his squire for an extra shield he had. "I would not wish your lord to be the loser for lack of your good right arm."

While Albrecht and Renard, Alain's squire ran off to get the shield, Gerhardt, a smiling man with hair the color of burnished gold and deep blue eyes and part of his right ear missing, challenged Elisabeth to a bout with axes. The German knight got the better of Elisabeth quickly as she had never learned the technique of that particular weapon.

Gerhardt drawled in his easy-going way, "Just remember that mighty crack you dealt to your squire's shield. That's how you manage a war axe. With well-aimed might. I will teach you."

Alain suggested, "Peut-être the young man has more experience with a mace? Ah, I think he does!" he said, seeing Elisabeth's broad grin.

Alain's mace was his practice mace, without the spikes he would want for killing. When one of the men standing about offered to lend Elisabeth his battle mace, she started to protest, but Alain waved her concerns down. "I will give you that advantage, my friend." Nevertheless, he eased her qualms by donning a thick padded gambeson.

He and Elisabeth squared off with several feet of ground between them. It was apparent from the beginning that the young German knight knew how to use the weapon, though primarily for defense. The two moved toward each other and held their maces with one hand low on the handle and the other cupped under the shaft nearer the heavy iron head. Each tested the weapon's balance by slapping its shaft onto that palm. The trick was to watch the opponent's eyes to see where he was considering a blow. Elisabeth managed to deflect Alain's blow aimed at her right arm by getting the shaft of her own weapon up quickly enough to intercept the smooth round ball, though the weight of the blow shoved her back. She feinted, no mean trick with such a weighted weapon, and swung about to strike Alain's thigh. Alain shouted with surprise. The site of the wound was under the padding, but nevertheless a small amount of blood ran down his leggings. He grinned and held his weapon out in front of him like a sword, danced back and then forward so sharply that the round iron ball took Elisabeth in the teeth. Her nose erupted in blood. It was her first significant wound, but rather than cry out, she whooped with soggy pleasure.

"Look!" she cried, putting one glove to her streaming nose and reaching up to her mouth with the other, having dropped the mace. With triumph she pulled out a tooth and held it aloft. "I lotht a toot!" she crowed.

Albrecht and Renard came running up at that point. Albrecht dropped the shield he was carrying and ran to Elisabeth. "My lord! You are hurt!"

Still clutching her nose, she replied, "Yeth, but he ith too. And I lotht a toot!" She smiled as wide as she could so her squire could see the missing tooth, though in truth he could not for the blood.

Black Beast shook his head, but he was smiling too. "I remember my first disfiguring scar. I was as proud of it as our young Elias is."

Albrecht fetched his shield. He told the group, "The front was plain black, so I decided to paint a sitting duck on it." He held it out, then frowned as the knights laughed. Then he looked chagrined. "I painted it upside down!" he moaned. Turning the shield around, they saw it was true. There was a duck, indeed, but its feet pointed skyward and its head toward the ground.

Black Beast slapped him on the shoulder. "When your master knights you, you will be Sir Albrecht of the Upside-Down Duck, the bane of Paynim throughout the Holy Land!"

Thereafter the group practiced together daily, and Elisabeth found her command of weapons increasing, her prowess growing greater over time. The only thing the knights could not persuade her to join in on was their carousing. She demurred quietly, and the knights teased her about her religious fervor but also respected it.

"He is a true man of God, our young pilgrim knight," Gerhardt boasted to anyone in hearing.

Another result of Elisabeth's seeming piety was that their small hoard of coins remained more or less intact. They used one coin for the offering as they visited Leopold's monastery. It was a long structure made entirely of stone on a cliff overlooking the Danube and the Wachau Valley. Standing at the edge of the construction, Albrecht asked a Benedictine monk who was assigned to show them around, "I don't understand the name of the town. What does Mölk mean?"

The young monk shook his head. "It's not German. Someone told me that it is from a Slav word that means 'border.' When this land was given to the Margrave's family, it was meant to be a sort of bulwark between Bavaria and the Magyars. Why it has a Slav name then, instead of Ugric, I do not know."

Gazing out over the dramatic landscape below, with its deep gorge and glassy blue river surface, Elisabeth pursued, "And the Margrave has given this land to the Benedictine order. Where is your abbey now?"

"Lambach. And he actually gave this most generous gift to our order a decade ago. He moved to the lesser part of his castle so we could take most of it. It is a rare blessing. We hope to make it a great abbey, with a school and scriptorium, for the greater glory of God. And that is his Grace's aim as well. He is a most devout man."

Albrecht called from where he had wandered over closer to the edge of the rock. "My lord, see here!"

Elisabeth strode over, accompanied by the informative cleric. "What is it?"

She looked where Albrecht indicated. There was a long line of boats and barges coming down the Danube. Each was packed with men, livestock or stores in barrels and crates.

"Conrad?" Elisabeth wondered aloud.

"It must be, my lord." Albrecht counted the vessels. "A dozen so far and methinks there are more behind."

The monk sighed, though his expression was excited. "I know not where we shall put them all."

Elisabeth gestured to Albrecht to come. "That's what sailcloth is for," and pointed to one of the barges that appeared to have rolls and rolls of a tan material. "Tents. Let's go down to the wharf to meet them, Albrecht."

At the wharf the first of the boats was pulling up and being tethered to the shore. A dock man tossed a plank to make a gangway. The first man to disembark was in full armor with a flat-topped iron helm and the ubiquitous crusader tabard complete with red cross. Behind him a knight carried a banner with the emblem of the Holy Roman Emperor, three black lions passant on a yellow background.

Elisabeth and Albrecht and all the other knights and their attendants sank to their knees in greeting. "Conrad?" Elisabeth whispered, leaning to Albrecht's ear.

Albrecht nodded. "It must be."

They stayed kneeling as the Constable of Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV passed, followed by many knights of considerable degree.

At the feast given in his honor, Conrad stood to address a hall packed with men dressed in crusader garb. "The Emperor will exult at my report of how many of you have come to join our faction. It is indeed a great and glorious quest we depart on. May God give strength to our purpose. How can he not?" The man, older but sturdy, battle scarred and grim, made the sign of the cross and took his place next to the Margrave. The Margravina was the only woman in the room. Other than Elisabeth, of course, who sat far down one of the rows of trestle tables with Albrecht in attendance behind her.

Albrecht leaned forward to say in Elisabeth's ear, "Look over there, on the opposite wall at the bottom of the room."

Elisabeth swiveled her head to peer through the throngs of servants delivering platters of food to the tables. "Well, I'll be . . . ," she breathed.

Almost out the door of the hall sat Ranulf the Peacemaker. As she gazed at him, frowning, he happened to glance over and see her looking at him. He grinned and raised his cup in a salute. When she scowled, he laughed and shrugged.

When the many knights were called to be introduced to the Constable, Elisabeth was pleased to see that she was invited up but not Ranulf.

As she approached Conrad and went down on one knee, Leopold leaned to speak in the Constable's ear. The German nodded, and turned back to Elisabeth. "I fought with your brave father Sigismund, my son. As you may know, I was also not able to leave with the first crusaders. I did not have your father's sad reason. And now I hear there is a loss in your family again, both your father and your, is it? Your sister? I also had thought it was you yourself."

"No, my lord, my father did leave, though late, for the Holy Land. But my sister is a great loss. I miss her greatly," Elisabeth said mournfully. "But it is my aim to go share in my father's and my . . . uh . . . my father's vow and fulfill his pledge to His Holiness and God." She had almost said, "and my brother's."

Conrad put his hand on her shoulder. "Good man. We need brave and committed men in our armies. You are most welcome in your father's name."

From the Constable's side the Margravina smiled her blessing on the rapturous young man.

Elisabeth felt two inches above the stone flags as she came back through the hot, noisy hall to her place. Albrecht looked questioningly at her. "He knew my father!" she said.

"But not your brother?" Albrecht asked nervously.

She hadn't thought of that possibility. "Oh, dear God, but no. I don't think so. But he knew I was dead."

Albrecht put a finger to his lips. "Careful." He satisfied himself no one had overheard. "Well, good, we are almost on our way, my lord."

The next day the nearly completed abbey church was the site of the mass oath-taking led by the Constable, the Margrave, the abbot who had led the prayer for Elisabeth's "sister's" soul, and more besides. As one voice they made the pledge led by one of Conrad's bishops. Elisabeth's command of Latin was unusual for a knight's daughter, but she was able to follow what the bishop intoned.

"I pledge my sword, my life and my soul to Almighty God that I shall make my way to his Holy City of Jerusalem, to kneel and worship at the altar of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher where His Blessed Son was entombed and later rose and ascended to His Heavenly Father. I will protect my fellow pilgrims and drive back and punish all those who seek to befoul the Holy Land. I will join the noble ranks of those who have gone before me and gloriously wrested the Holy City from the Paynim and brought it in the name of His Holiness, the Pope, back into the hands of the faithful. I pledge my honor and the surety of my soul, for God wills it. Amen."

The voices of the abbey choir rose in a hymn of praise. Elias von Winterkirche, Knight of the Crusade, almost teetered, her head was so full of the sheer glory of it all.

In a few days, she and Albrecht, in full armor and with a new packhorse, set out to the south for the journey to Brindisi at the heel of Italy and thence by ship to the Sublime City of Constantinople.

Chapter Seven ~ A New World

Looking back from where she sat mounted on Gauner's broad back, Elisabeth marveled at all the souls on the road with her. Though Conrad's contingent was not a national one, the number of people who accompanied him was surprising. She guessed the number of pilgrim knights was relatively small. She knew that larger groups would join them before they set sail from Brindisi in the far south of Italy. The throng she surveyed seemed to consist of men-at-arms, servants, families, traders and the less reputable camp followers. These last made a strong contrast to the stated pledge of the knights to remain chaste at least until they knelt in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

Black Beast grumbled about leaving so late in the season. "We're likely to find our asses in some mountain pass in a blizzard."

From their reactions, it looked like Alain and Gerhardt were in accordance with his sentiments.

She turned to her squire. "Is that likely?"

Albrecht shrugged. "I pray not."

At first the traveling was fairly easy. The company headed west along the bank of the Danube for quite some time, ever with the Alpine vistas to their left. They seemed impossibly high, insurmountable, but Alain reassured her that there were several passes where one could travel between the highest peaks.

"Have you been through them?"

Alain shook his head sheepishly. "Well, no, not exactly. I heard it from someone who has many times."

"What time of year did he travel?" she pursued.

Gerhardt laughed. "When sane people do it. Summer."

"Well, mayhap with our holy cause God will delay the worst weather for us."

The three knights exchanged glances, and then looked at her. "That's why we travel with you, Elias. You keep us focused on why we are here," Alain commented.

"And keep us humble," added Gerhardt.

Whether or not God had anything to do with it, Elisabeth's hope was made fact. As they turned south at Raulbing, the grade rose, but even as they approached the pass they had only occasional snow flurries. What's more the ground was frozen enough that the little moisture did not turn into mud. The three knights began to call her "Elias the Lucky." The name spread and stuck. Even Conrad hailed her once with that appellation.

The two Winterkirche pilgrims shared sighs of relief as they turned away from Bavaria. For the leagues they had traveled through their home duchy neither had been able to relax. Trying not to be obvious, they kept an eye on travelers coming the opposite way. They expected to see Reinhardt or his men searching for her. She could only hope that her disguise and her presence amidst so many that were likewise dressed in chain mail and the pilgrim's tabard would make her invisible to his eyes.

"Do you think he has given up?" she asked Albrecht not long after the road turned toward the mountains to the south.

Her squire proposed, "Mayhap he is afraid he will find and be stuck with you?"

Elisabeth gave him a sardonic look. "Very droll."

Albrecht cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing about your father, my lord, from anyone along the way?"

She shook her head. "I expected none. He was to take the western pass. Mayhap in Italy . . . "

In spite of the fortunate weather, the traveling was slow. It was definitely a hardship every time they had to stop to make camp for the night. They had sailcloth tents for the ranking members of the pilgrimage. The rest bundled up together as best they could, sharing body heat, blankets, and probably the pox, Elisabeth imagined, noticing when she was on watch how the bodies in some spot or another writhed and bumped. When the chill wind blew, getting fires started was no easy task, and the hot food did not stay hot long. But the conviviality that was part of the start of any adventure was apt medicine for the discomforts and privations.

There were some mishaps that cheer could not make endurable, however, though word of them rarely made it to the armored class riding at the fore. After being trampled by horses, wagons and men, the path froze over again and became quite icy. More than one camp follower slipped and fell. One woman who had her three children tied to her with a length of rope took those children with her as she slipped, slid, and then shot over the edge of a deep ravine. Elisabeth found out about the accident when one of the men-at-arms not far behind where she rode cried out at being given the news. He had lost wife and children in one fell swoop. Those who fell but only broke limbs were at the mercy of their companions' willingness to carry and care for them. How many were left behind to freeze to death was not calculated.

Near the summit of the highest pass Elisabeth was invited to rest in the guesthouse of a priory as a reward for the luck she seemed to bring with her. She and Albrecht appreciated the warm, dry cells and the hot and hearty food. She felt bad that the three knights who had befriended her were out in the cold. Albrecht did not share his suspicion that they welcomed one night without their shining star. With "Elias" not there to model piety, they would have a chance to go to the lower camp and risk getting the pox.

Late in the evening Elisabeth was invited to sit in the priory's warming room, a circular space with a large fire in a firepot in the middle. The conical roof allowed the smoke to billow out without letting in much of the cold air except when the wind was especially hard. She was tongue-tied in the exalted company that included the Holy Roman Emperor's Constable, Conrad, and other highborn knights and clerics. She was content to sit and listen and hope no one asked her a question. She thanked her own lucky stars that no one had occasion to bathe, because she had her woman's flux and might have worried about the odor in such a tight press.

One of the bishops asked the Constable, "Where are we expecting to meet up with the other contingents, my lord?"

Conrad sat with his head back against the wall and his eyes closed. "We should be coming into Italy near the town of Verona. I believe we will find them camped somewhat south and east, between Verona and Bologna. We will continue along the east coast of Italy to Brindisi."

An older knight put in his own question, "And whom are they expecting besides Stephen of Blois?"

Conrad lifted his head and scowled when the name elicited chuckles. "That's quite enough of that. He's making his pledge good." He looked at the knight who had asked him the question. "Also Stephen, Count of Burgundy, and Odo, Duke of Burgundy."

"Burgundy. Don't they call him Stephen the Rash?" someone asked.

"Yes, same as his father. His older brother died in the Holy Land, you know."

"I hope the moniker is not accurate. Rash and a prince, that's all they need. My lord, have you met him?"

Conrad nodded. "I don't know why they call him that. He's no youngster. He seemed calm enough to me when I saw him last."

"What about this Odo? I am afraid I have not heard the best about him."

Conrad crossed his arms over his chest. "Odo the Red? No, not what you'd call a model Christian."

Leaning to peer around the fire's flames and smoke, another man asked grinning, "Do you know what happened when he tried to rob Anselm of Canterbury?"

All eyes shot to Conrad. The Constable was smiling. "Yes, but why don't you tell the story?"

The heads shot back to the bishop as if they had been watching a ball being kicked back and forth.

"Well, it seems that their noble Duke Odo decided it would be a fine thing to ambush the Archbishop and his train as they traveled through Burgundy on their way to Rome. When they had surrounded the party, Odo went about demanding which of the clerics was Anselm. Anselm came out to him, cheery as you please, and said something like 'Odo, my brother, how glad I am to embrace you!' Odo was so startled he let him. And there and then he pledged himself as Anselm's servant."

Amid the laughter one man asked, "Is the Archbishop that crafty?"

The man who told the story raised his eyebrows. "Or is Odo that stupid?"

Elisabeth inserted, "Maybe he was just embarrassed."

The response was more laughter but also some considering nods.

She added, "We call him Odo the Red? Maybe he blushes a lot."

The laughter increased. Two men sitting near her slapped her on the back. "Rich!" one complimented.

Conrad, smiling, looked at her. "Laugh now, but don't forget to stop when we get to Verona."

Bowing her head in humility, she nevertheless asked him a question. "What of Stephen of Blois? I knew he ran away from the Siege of Antioch. But he can't be the only one who did."

The laughter subsided quickly. No one looked at her or for that matter met each other's eyes.

"Lord, you said he is fulfilling his pledge . . . ," she went on.

Conrad sat up and cast his eyes about the room. "Young Elias is right." He relented and looked at her. "We ridicule him because of why he is fulfilling his pledge, though I do not think you should believe all you hear." He paused. "They say his wife threw him out of the castle so ashamed she was of him."

"Rightly so," a voice muttered.

"But you can understand that a man like Blois doesn't want people to think he is ruled by his wife. Even if she is the Conqueror's kin."

Conrad shot another scowl in the direction of a man who interjected, "I think the expression is 'pussy whipped.'"

One part of going abroad as a man she did not treasure was the nearly perpetual nastiness she heard about wives. She occasionally made a half-hearted attempt to present a more positive interpretation of wifely behavior, but all that earned her was teasing and taunts. "Mama's boy" was one of the polite expressions. This time she essayed more forcefully, "Is it not the role of a wife to inspire and urge her husband to fulfill his holy vows?"

A few pairs of eyes rolled, a few were cast down while lips smirked, but not a few looked chastened. Conrad's bishop rebuked, "Our young knight reminds us of their duty to serve God the Father. It is not the shame of a man that his wife corrects him, but that he needs must be corrected. If a man wants a silent wife, mayhap he should consider how his conduct will earn her silence."

Well, it wasn't quite what she had intended, but it was something. As the group filed out of the warming room, she heard a man mutter, "Prig." Maybe it was time to loosen up, she thought.

At last the slope was more downward than upward, the snow disappeared, and the views south stretched out bare but dry. Olive groves surrounded little villages. The little town of Verona was walled. With the host that camped outside those walls, it looked as if it was under siege.

A man in rich armor strode up to welcome Conrad as the party from Germany and Austria rode up. "They've closed the gates," his high vexatious voice complained.

"I am glad to see you as well, Stephen. Why have they closed it?"

Stephen of Blois frowned. "They say our men cannot be trusted." He waited while the Constable's men helped him lower his weary bones to the ground from where he rode high up on his destrier's saddle.

"With what?" the German asked.

Another man cut in, "Much of anything. Wives and daughters mostly." He walked forward. "Hello, Conrad. So you made it over the Alps."

Conrad took the proffered hand. "Good to see you, Stephen."

Some distance away Alain leaned to Elisabeth. "The first man is Stephen of Blois. The second is Stephen of Burgundy."

She nodded. "And I suppose that red-haired man with the red beard is Odo?"

Odo the Red joined the three leaders where they stood facing one another. "They are right, but so what? Who are they to interfere?"

Conrad retorted, "With holy pilgrims?"

Stephen of Blois made a sweeping gesture. "Come on, we don't need to stand out here in the sun quarreling in front of the men." He led the three men over to where his own sizable pavilion stood, and all four ducked inside.

The combined armies remained near Verona long enough to rest the German parties' horses and to finish stripping the farms outside Verona bare of all provisions. Elisabeth met many of the Burgundian and Frankish knights when she went with Alain and her other two knightly friends to make the rounds of the established camps.

"Mes amis, ma foi, what joy to see you again. Michel, have you stopped buggering the little boys on your estate? And you, Olivier, how's that growth on your cock?" The men appeared to take the insults in the lighthearted spirit in which Alain intended them. "Come, meet our new friends. You already know that ugly sod Black Beast. This is Gerhardt. Be sure you stay upwind of him. And this, mes amis, is Elias von Winterkirche. He's still wet behind the ears and too holy for his own good, but he has proved lucky for us."

Sitting around convivial campfires she learned a lot about the leaders of the armies waiting to pull up stakes and head for the larger, more promising town of Bologna. Stephen of Blois, it seemed, was prone to tantrums. Though more easy-going, Stephen of Burgundy was no peacemaker but washed his hands of the other Stephen's frequent quarrels with the even more quarrelsome Odo. She learned that some of Odo's men were the responsible parties for the shutting of the gates of the town to soldiers.

"We went on a rampage," explained one of the Burgundians. "We burned down some buildings, including the tavern we were getting drunk in, then broke into the mayor's house and forced him to take in all the now-homeless whores from the tavern."

"I heard that the abbot of the monastery found one of Blois's men fucking one of his abbey donkeys."

"Well, it made a nice change from the abbot doing it."

"Is it true that Odo himself tried to kidnap the mayor's wife?"

"Oui, he likes them old and fat."

Alain shared the story of how Elisabeth had gotten a gibe in at Odo that he had heard from someone who had been in the warming room to hear her. She got much the same reaction thanks to the fact that Alain did not include the reprimand her words had inspired from Conrad. As it was, her own face was beet red when the jesting was over.

Circulating through the many factions encamped there, Elisabeth sought tidings of her father. None seemed to know of him, save by reputation. "Mayhap if he went by way of Milan, he took ship there," one cleric suggested. "Or he went with the later group, the one led by his Grace, the Archbishop. He could already be in the Holy Land, but he came not through the eastern cities of Italia."

Finally restitution to the town was negotiated, at Conrad's and belatedly Blois's insistence; disputes about who got to ride where in the assemblage were settled to simmering; and the armies, complete with multiply enhanced camp followers, with the addition of several women from Verona, set out for Bologna.

The streets of Bologna were crowded and festive with the market day press. Elisabeth and Albrecht found that just getting from one side of the street to another required all their brute strength and still took far too long. Elisabeth turned to her squire to suggest they return to the inn they had found, but she could see no sign of him. She stood on the tips of her toes and scanned what she could see of the tops of heads, but nothing looked either like Albrecht's hat or, if it had been knocked off or stolen, his chestnut curls. She was about to step up on a crate when a hand grasped her arm and pulled her away.

"Elias, my good friend! I owe you for that tavern bill. Come with me and I will make amends."

It was the leader of the mercenary band, Ranulf. She had occasionally seen him and his ragtag crew on the journey south, but had no reason to speak to him or any of his soldiers. "But . . . my squire?"

Ranulf pulled her along with him, brooking no objection. "Your squire? You don't need him and his purse. This is on me this time." He grinned sideways at her. "Is he your squire or your nursemaid? Or . . . ," and now he leered, "your leman?" He laughed when she looked affronted. "Never mind. Where I am taking you, you need no lemans anyway."

Elisabeth was unsure whether to worry more about Albrecht and what he would think of her disappearance or just where this blackguard was taking her. It seemed to be a place the man knew well, for he sailed through the crowd unerringly, down the street, into an alley that was little less crowded than the street, and then down an even narrower alley. Elisabeth felt her shoe sink into something squishy, but it was so dark she could not see her own feet when she looked down. The constant rubbing of bodies against her own made her worry about two things, about the loss of her purse and that someone, maybe even Ranulf, would detect a most unmanly body part under her clothing.

She was relieved when he propelled her into a covered walkway that was all but empty. Her first action was to check her purse. It was still there. Then she made sure her clothing covered everything that must be.

"You look wonderful." Ranulf gave her another amused look. "Besides, they don't care how you look."

"Who doesn't care?" Elisabeth demanded.

Ranulf did not reply as at that point he pushed open a rough door that seemed to go into an undercroft of a very old, sagging, wooden structure. Passing through a low door with a sign showing seven coins, Elisabeth found herself suddenly in a dark, low-ceiling space that was overly warm and extremely smelly. It was almost more loud than warm or smelly. It was not as packed as the street, but she could hear many voices, some men's, some women's, some raised in song.

"What is this place?" she protested, but she could not hear her own voice, no less could Ranulf have heard her. He pulled her through the throng to a table in the back. As her eyes adjusted, she recognized the mercenary band. "You!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, us! Aren't you happy to see us? Welcome to the Settaducati!" Ranulf shouted in her ear. He gestured for Thomas to move over on the bench, and then shoved her next to the silent man. Ranulf slid in next to her, reviving her fears of close body contact. She wished she had worn her gambeson.

Ruggiero was across from her again. His dark face and beard now sported a smile. It somehow looked more sinister than the man's former scowl. "So you brought the lad, Ranulf. I suppose you thought it was time the little saint got his cherry popped." The Italian raised his cup of wine in salute.

Elisabeth went pale. "My cherry? What cherry?"

The Italian laughed. "You know, your virginity."

"What makes you think I am a virgin?" Her head held high she protested, "I am no virgin!" She caught her breath. Did they know she was a woman? Men don't have cherries.

"All right, all right, so you are no virgin." Ranulf winked at Ruggiero. "So tonight will be your second time. Or fortieth. What does it matter? I am paying for it."

Elisabeth stared at him disbelieving. "You are paying for me to sleep with a whore?"

"Sleep, fuck, play dice with, whatever you want."

Elisabeth paled. "But I can't!"

Ruggiero commented, "You just said you had, so you must be able to."

Elisabeth went scarlet this time. "I mean I pledged my chastity! For the pilgrimage. I must keep myself pure."

The two men erupted into guffaws, and even Thomas smiled humorously.

Ranulf shrugged. "Have it your way. That was a damned silly pledge, if you ask me. You are going to the Holy Land to be killed and have your guts fed to the carrion birds and worse. What harm is there in a little fucking beforehand?" He looked up and called, "Giuliana! A cup and wine here!"

Elisabeth scowled at him.

"Little prig," Ruggiero muttered.

Ruggiero jerked as if shoved aside and a woman appeared squeezed in beside him and Ragnar, whose own attention was on a slip of a girl he had on his lap and was tickling, making her scream with laughter. Elisabeth found herself staring at the serving-woman who leaned forward to pour wine from a pitcher. There before her eyes and barely obscured by the woman's tight bodice were two magnificent breasts the like of which Elisabeth had never seen before on anyone other than some old peasant woman and these were taut, full and not hanging to her waist. Her jaw dropped.

Ranulf laughed. "This is Giuliana and her face is several inches above where you are looking."

Ragnar finally noticed the newcomer and leaning in front of Giuliana said to Ranulf, "It looks like your suspicion of our fey young friend was groundless, my friend."

"Indeed," the leader chortled. "In that case, we needs must settle your own guess, my pale-eyed friend."

Elisabeth could not turn her face away from the delicious prospect, though she had to look up now as the breasts were raised on the standing woman. "What guess?"

A rich contralto with a musical lilt replied from somewhere above the breasts. "That you have never been with a woman, signore," it smiled, its German heavily accented.

Elisabeth's eyes went up, traveling from those Alps and their deep valley to a white throat and thence to a pair of lips so red and rich that they could only be matched by the dark, lustrous eyes that sized Elisabeth up.

Ruggiero spoke to the woman in Italian. She shook her head and replied in a peevish voice.

Ranulf reached to his belt and fumbled in a drawstring pouch. He produced a gorgeous gold ring with a small but brilliant red stone. "Not even for this?"

Giuliana's eyes were now as riveted on the gem as Elisabeth's had been on her breasts, where they again rested. "But I do not like to be their first. They come all over you and then they weep. They fall in love and fight the men you take to your bed." Nevertheless she asked, "Is it real?"

"See for yourself," Ranulf grinned and handed the ring to her.

The woman examined it, leaning to a candle, and then bit the stone. "Jesu Christe!" she swore.

"I told you," Ranulf retorted. "Now how about it?"

Giuliana eyed Elisabeth. "You promise not to get your spunk all over me?"

Elisabeth nodded dumbly. What little consciousness that remained told her she had no spunk to spill, so it was no lie.

"And do you promise not to fall in love and think you own me?" the woman persisted.

In Elisabeth's ears it was an angel chorus, but something seemed to be expected, so she nodded again.

"I promise," she breathed.

"What did he say?" Giuliana demanded. "I couldn't hear him."

Ranulf grinned. "He said he wants to fuck you."

"I should think that is obvious," Ruggiero remarked. "And suck and bugger and lick your feet and whatever else you will allow."

"All right," the woman said dubiously. "But later. I have a customer who gets in first."

Ranulf reached out and deftly plucked the ring from her hand. "The whole night. Or nothing."

She frowned. Looking over the heads at the nearby tables she studied a man who seemed to be starting to fall asleep. "Well, all right then. My customer appears to be about to pass out anyway. Come along, lover boy. Let's get this over with."

"The whole night!" Ranulf repeated, pulling back his hand with the ring clutched in it as she reached for it again.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "All right. The whole night. But he won't last that long."

Ranulf winked. "Then you will have the night off. And get paid." He handed her the ring.

Elisabeth's eyes followed the woman's retreating form.

"Where did you get that ring?" Ruggiero asked.

"I stole it off a bishop," Ranulf answered, eliciting nothing but a nod from the Italian. "Well, what are you waiting for. She's over there waiting for you." This was addressed to Elisabeth.

Feeling the man's rough poke in her ribs, Elisabeth, her mouth still open, stood and looked, first at Ranulf and then at the woman who stood at the back door of the place. Giuliana shook her head, then laughed and ran one palm provocatively over her own breasts. A burst of obscene noises and comments greeted the gesture. Elisabeth felt as if she were tethered to the woman by an invisible thread. She advanced, bumping into the table as if she thought she could pass through it. "Oh for Thor's sake," Ragnar swore and stood. He came around the table and took Elisabeth's shoulder, guiding her through the spaces between tables until she stood in front of the woman. "Here, before he comes in his britches. Take him."

Elisabeth let the woman take her arm and propel her out the door into a courtyard. It was damp and full of refuse, but if Elisabeth had to recount her evening's experiences, she would describe it as a garden of fragrant flowers. Giuliana guided her to a stairway up to a gallery, then across the creaking and irregular floorboards to a door.

"In here," she directed.

Elisabeth stared into her face and shook her head. The woman sighed and shoved her in. She shut the door behind her.

"Do you want a light?" the woman's voice sounded in the darkness.

Blind, Elisabeth asked, "A light? What for?"

A deep musical chuckle told her where the whore was. "So you can see me, you dimwit."

"Oh." Elisabeth was starting to realize where she was and what was happening. "But I can't . . . "

A flint sparked and the scraps of linen in a tinderbox caught and flamed. Giuliana tipped a lantern so the wick caught. She blew out the flame in the tinderbox. She replaced the horn cover on the lamp so a dull golden glow lit the space between her and Elisabeth. She set the lamp on a table and looked at her young knight. With her hands on her hips she said, "Can't what? Can't get it up? That's my job." She came to Elisabeth and pressed her magnificent breasts against the front of her tunic. Elisabeth closed her eyes and moaned. The woman reached down to put a hand on Elisabeth's groin. Elisabeth felt her mound cupped and moaned again.

"Oh!" Giuliana exclaimed. She felt more searchingly. "You are a woman! Do they know? I will get them good if this is a jest to make a fool of me."

Elisabeth stepped back. "No, no, they don't know. And please, I beg you, don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

Giuliana smiled gently. "Clearly." She looked Elisabeth up and down. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Elisabeth looked about the dim room. She could just make out a bed with the covers cast about. There was little else. The single window was shuttered and only a thin sliver of light showed where it was sagging on its hinges. "Can we just stay here? All night? So they think I . . . you know . . . ?"

Giuliana gave her a wicked grin. "We can do better than that. You can't fuck me, but we can still have some fun. In fact, for once it will be fun for me."

She came forward and pressed her breasts against Elisabeth's again. She reached up with her arms and, putting them around Elisabeth's neck, pulled her stunned face down to hers. She put her lips on Elisabeth's and took in a deep, sighing breath. "Mmmm," she murmured and slid her tongue into Elisabeth's mouth.

"But . . . but . . . it's a sin!" the young knight protested.

The woman stepped back and put her hands on her hips. "Who says?"

"Well . . . the Church."

"They are all buggering each other when they aren't in here slobbering over my girls. And does it really say making love is a sin? In the holy books, I mean?" The woman cocked her head.

"Th-thou shalt not commit adultery, that is what it says." Elisabeth's brain was too foggy to think further than that.

Giuliana stepped forward again and reached a hand to toy with Elisabeth's cropped tresses. "I thought adultery is when you sleep with someone who is married already."

Elisabeth gaped. "Well, yes, but . . . " She supposed she ought to tell the woman that we was in fact married, but for some reason was reluctant say it.

The woman leaned in with her face to nibble on Elisabeth's throat. In between nibbles she said, "I always thought they just didn't want a lot of little fatherless bastards running about begging. And we can hardly produce any bastards, can we?"

"I guess not." Elisabeth raised her arms and put one palm on each breast. They were firm to the touch. She kneaded and moaned. Her thumbs found the nipples and discovered they were as hard as little nuts. "Touch me there again," she heard herself entreat.

"Let's get these clothes off you first," the whore said. She expertly untied laces, raised the cloth, pushed down other cloth, and all the while her hands stroked the flesh through and then under it all. By the time she was naked, Elisabeth was trembling all over.

"I want to see you," she begged.

Giuliana smiled languidly. "Then take off my clothes."

Elisabeth reached around the woman to untie the laces that closed the bodice down the back. This made her crush the woman's breasts and she grinned. "You really like this?" she asked. "With another woman, I mean."

"I like it, si, much more than with a man. A woman will seek to please me."

"And men do not?" She pulled the bodice forward so that it slipped over the woman's shoulders. The breasts were now covered with only a thin linen shift. She took one in her hand and flicked the nipple.

Giuliana groaned with delight. "Some do. Some men know that giving pleasure makes the whole thing better. But they don't have women's bodies, so they don't know what we like. Have you never made love before?"

Elisabeth had loosened the tie that held up Giuliana's skirt and let the garment fall to the floor. "Love? No, I have never made love.," she answered bitterly. Elisabeth undid the drawstring of the woman's shift and drew the neckline over her shoulders to expose her breasts. She sighed as she saw them. She leaned to take a nipple in her mouth, licking and sucking.

Elisabeth learned delights that night that she could never have imagined. Giuliana's hands on her breasts made them seem to swell with pleasure. After the woman had lowered herself where they lay on the bed and started to tickle between her lips within her mound's soft downy hair she felt as if someone had touched her in her in a most sensitive place with cold steel. Her orgasm came slowly, reaching inside her more sharply and strongly than she ever had through her own tentative explorations. She found herself crying out, sobbing, and moaning. She writhed on the bed, then lay gasping.

"Let me do that to you!" she pleaded. Spreading Giuliana's lips and taking in the rich aroma of her sex, Elisabeth dipped her tongue in a salty-sweet woman's brew. She tried to remember the technique the woman had used on her. Whether she did it as well or not, the woman responded. As her cries and moans became louder, Elisabeth begged, "Say, 'Fuck me, Elias!'" The woman smiled and complied. Elisabeth hoped the mercenaries were listening.

Settling into each other's arms, the two women took turns resting their heads on the other's shoulder. Elisabeth discovered she was thinking how this soft, warm cuddling was almost-almost-as wonderful as what they had done first. The comfortable laziness was far from chaste however, as they reached to stroke some special spot on the other and the more active lovemaking recommenced.

At the sound of a cockcrow, Elisabeth sat up, unsure at first where she was. Then she felt and smelled Giuliana next to her. Leaning over she put one arm around her and pressed her breasts against the warm smooth back. Her hand rested on a breast. She heard Giuliana sigh. "What is your real name, Elias?" the woman crooned.

"Elisabeth," she whispered.

"Grazie, Elisabeta," the woman said.

She turned her head to be kissed. Elisabeth did as she was expected.

They both started when a fist hammered on the door. "Elias! That's enough. Time to get mounted." It was Ranulf's voice, interrupted then with guffaws.

Ruggiero's voice jested, "Don't tell him to mount. In fact, he probably already is in the saddle." More laughter.

Elisabeth called out, consciously deepening her voice. "Can't you wait? I will be out in a minute."

Three male voices made lewd sounds.

"All right, but hurry. Conrad wants to get back on the road."

"Already?" Elisabeth groaned.

After a short time, the door to the room swung in. Elisabeth, fully clothed, stood with a mostly naked Giuliana in her arms locked in a deep kiss.

The four men out on the rickety gallery stared. The whore had her hands clasped on Elisabeth's buttocks. "Come back, my lord, I beg you. I have never been fucked like that before. I want it again and again."

Elisabeth gratefully smiled into the woman's twinkling eyes. "I already did that. All night." She bent in for a last long kiss. "Arrivederci, bella," she said gently, then turned to the mercenaries. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

The men took the steps two at a time. Passing through another door into an alley, Ranulf and Ragnar put their arms around Elisabeth's shoulders, Ruggiero and Thomas throwing theirs over each other’s. "Hail the conquering hero!" Thomas began to sing.

Elisabeth stopped dead. She stared at Thomas. "You have an incredible voice!"

Thomas dipped his chin in acknowledgement and switched to a song about a man who seduces every nun in a convent. Ranulf, Ruggiero and Ragnar beamed at Elisabeth. They patted her on the back, made rude noises, and did not even try to hide their admiration.

Ranulf said in Elisabeth's ear, "Now be honest, what did you pay her to say that?"

Elisabeth smirked. "I paid her nothing. I had nothing in my purse."

Ranulf raised his eyebrows. "Well, I shall ask you to give me some tips sometime. I've known Giuliana for years. She never said anything like that to me."

Elisabeth beamed. "I will be glad to share my secrets," and thought how she would hold her best secrets back. They would be of no use to him.

Back at their inn Albrecht ran up to Elisabeth. "Where were you? What happened to you?"

"I'll tell you later. Have you gotten the horses ready?" Elisabeth just walked into the inn to retrieve her things.

Beginning the long tedious ride south through Italy, a journey that would take some weeks, Albrecht noticed that his lordly companion seemed troubled. He waited for her to share what concerned her, but when she did not, he took the initiative. "My lord, you and frowned ever since we left Bologna. I wish you would tell me what happened there, when you disappeared."

Elisabeth frowned. "It's just that I am not sure."

"Not sure what happened? Were you drunk? He pursued.

"Yes, well no. I mean..." She sighed. Leaning to speak in a low tone, she explained, "Ranulf took me to a brothel."

Albrecht stared back at her puzzled. Then his face cleared, and he said, "Oh. You mean, he took you to a whore." Her exasperated look and nod made him bark out a laugh.

"It's not funny, Elisabeth protested.

"It's not supposed to be funny," he jested, then thought better of it. With ill-concealed curiosity he asked, "So, what happened?"

She swallowed hard, looked about anxiously and went on. "What is supposed to happen with a whore."

His eyebrows shot up. "Well done! But, um, how?"

She glared at him. "None of your business. But there is something I can't help but wonder about. I mean, I really liked it. Really, really liked it," she emphasized.

"And that is bad... how?" he pursued.

She looked up and around as if searching for words. "Why did I like it? Is it because what Reinhardt did to me turned me against men?"

Albrecht shook his head. "Didn't you tell me that Magdalena told you that it is about whom you desire, not whom you don't desire. A preference, I mean."

Elisabeth gave him a speculative look. "That maybe I just prefer women, just as you and Elias prefer men?"

He nodded. "Mayhap twins can share that, um, proclivity, as well as all the other things."

She tilted her head to one side to consider his words. "I wonder... I mean, why not? So it may not be that Reinhardt turned me into a sodomite, but that I am one naturally." She looked up sharply at his laugh. "What's so funny?"

He looked contrite. "I am sorry. It's just that I don't think women are called sodomites." He took on an uncertain expression. "Or are they?"

She grinned wickedly, "Well, whom do you want to ask about that? Black Beast? Alain?"

His disgusted face made her laugh. "We may never know. Whatever I am, I am content."

Through the winner months they rode south, marveling at the much more moderate weather along the east coast of Italy. The fields went fallow this time of year, but there was ample green in the shrubs and trees. Though it occasionally rained, Elisabeth found that she was rarely cold. She enjoyed the sight of the white-washed cottages and simple stone churches, the busy people singing while they worked, and the young children that ran alongside the pilgrim procession calling out greetings she could not understand.

Black Beast put out one arm long and thick as a tree trunk so that Elisabeth could squeeze in along the rail of the ship. Albrecht was right behind her, and there he remained.

The San Marco was as crowded as the crew's movements would permit. Their horses and other goods were coming along on another vessel, or so they were promised.

"Do you get sea sick?" Black Beast asked her.

"I-I don't know. I have never been on a ship." Elisabeth looked out over the water in the harbor at Brindisi. The San Marco weighed anchor and pointed her prow towards the open Adriatic as Elisabeth struggled to her place.

"You better stay here then. It's a mixed bag being at the rail. If you aren't going to throw up, it's probably better to give the place to someone who is. Otherwise that person will just throw up all over you," the big man said in a matter-of-fact voice.

She looked at him, disbelieving. Straining to look about her she asked, "This voyage will take how long?"

He looked down at her. "Longer than you can imagine."

As a commotion began behind them that drowned even the pandemonium of the boarding, she raised her voice to scream to him, "And we will have to stand the whole way?"

He chuckled, though even he could not have heard the sound. He leaned and shouted in her ear, "They must have room for the crew to work. Just wait. You will see."

The men pressing in behind her shoved her violently against the rail. She was glad Albrecht was the man whose body covered her own. Slowly as she was buffeted and pushed this way and that, she saw that the heads over her shoulder were moving into sections here and there. Albrecht clung to her side so they would not be separated. Black Beast stood rooted where he wanted to be, knowing no one would be able to move him. They lost sight temporarily of Alain and Gerhardt.

Elisabeth was fortunate to have been shepherded to a spot where her back was to the forecastle. She suddenly realized that there would be no privy, no privacy in which to relieve herself. She wasn't even sure how the passengers would get to the rail to do so, no less have the means to do the even more private thing. Panic took her, but she was pressed in on all sides so could not act on that panic.

She turned to Albrecht, or where she thought he was, and found herself looking straight into the eyes of Ranulf, the mercenary captain. He grinned broadly. "We meet again, do we, stud?"

To her horror he turned to the man on his other side, someone she knew only by sight, and said, "You know Giuliana at the Settaducati? This fellow spent the night with her and she could hardly stand afterwards."

The man's eyes widened. He looked at Elisabeth with admiration. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, pilgrim. May I know your name?"

She cleared her throat. "Elias von Winterkirche, and our mutual companion here exaggerates."

"I am Jehan de Liege, and the woman has never even agreed to consider my gold."

Ranulf puffed out his chest. "I paid," he boasted.

Elisabeth felt a tap on her shoulder from her other side. "You know that man, Elias?" Black Beast muttered unpleasantly.

Turning her head she saw Albrecht next to her trying not to smile. Black Beast leaned in from in front of them. He had a surprising amount of space between him and his immediate neighbors. "I met him and his men in Mölk."

"What is this about the whore?"

Elisabeth searched for an answer, then fell back on a skewed sort of honor. "A knight of the cross does not speak of such things."

Ranulf leaned across her. "He doesn't have to. All of Bologna will know by now, and probably the whole Po Valley."

Going pale, Elisabeth wondered just what the whole Po Valley had heard. She realized two things, however: she trusted Giuliana. It didn't matter. She didn't think she would ever leave the Holy Land. She looked around sheepishly at Black Beast, expecting condemnation, but instead a sort of admiration played on his face.

"I congratulate you, young Elias. And to be truthful, I am a little relieved. You were making us all look really bad."

"So, Black Beast, where have you been keeping yourself?" Ranulf cut in.

"You know each other?" she asked, darting looks at each man in turn.

"Well enough to know what influence a scoundrel can have on a young knight," the big man said. He reached a hand across her and clasped Ranulf's. "After paying for Giuliana, did you have any gold left?"

Ranulf grinned. "Oh, there is always more where that came from." He laughed as Black Beast and a few others near them put their hands to their money pouches. "Don't worry, I'm not the one of my company who can steal in plain view." Stretching his neck, he looked over his neighbors' heads. "There he is over there."

In concert with the other heads about them, she looked where he nodded. There stood Thomas the Silent, his eyes closed and his mouth moving. He was either praying or singing. He certainly was not conversing with anyone.

Ranulf grinned around at them all.

"How do you know each other?" she prompted.

Shrugging, Black Beast supplied, "In some battle or another. Either on the same side or not."

"You don't mind fighting without a cause? Without honor?" she shot at the mercenary, appalled.

He simply cocked his head and smiled. "You mean to say that any soldier fights for something he believes in? Not someone else's cause?"

She glanced at Black Beast who appeared to have nothing to say. "What about this holy pilgrimage?"

A cloud passed quickly across Ranulf's face. Getting his expression in hand swiftly, he shrugged. "There are mitigating circumstances."

The Frankish knight on his other side lowered his voice. "Mainz?"

Elisabeth was astounded by the bitter anger on the usually jesting Ranulf's face.

Jehan rapidly demurred. "Forgive me," he blurted, lowering his gaze.

Ranulf glared at the Frank and moved to where Thomas stood. He roughly prodded the man, who Elisabeth noticed had a hunting bow slung on his shoulder. Thomas looked up startled, then moved as far to the side as was possible. Ranulf squeezed into the tight spot smashed up between protesting men.

"Mainz? The Jews?" she inquired of the Frankish knight.

He muttered, "Nothing." He turned his back on her.

At her questioning look, Black Beast shook his head. "I have heard rumors, but they are so muddled that I dare not spread them. Some say he and his band took part in the massacres. Others said he had a mistress among the Jews and fought the rampaging pilgrims. Still others say he was part of the desecration of the cathedral. I don't know."

All grew silent. Elisabeth gazed out at the coast of Brindisi, which slid by and seemed to grow more distant. It was beautiful in the failing light, she thought. Why is the earth so fair and men's hearts so dark?

Once the light had failed she leaned to Albrecht. "I have to piss," she said in a whisper. "What do I do?"

It was apparent that Albrecht had not thought about the problem any more than she had. "It's dark. Can you just go to the rails?"

She watched other men making their way through the standing crowd. "Where are they going?"

Albrecht stood on the tips of his toes to see what Elisabeth saw. "They are going to the beakhead."

"The beakhead? What is that? And how do you know what it's called?"

"Some squire told me to find a spot up near there, that I would be glad I did. Wait, I see him. He's the big burly fellow, the one climbing out on the beakhead." He watched a moment. "Oh."

"What?" she pressed.

"He's leaning way out to take a piss."

Elisabeth paled. "You have to climb out on that thing to piss?"

Albrecht shrugged. "Well, at least it's more private. I guess that is where you should go."

"And do what?" she demanded irritably. "Pull down my britches and sit with my arse to the sea? Everyone else is facing the other way."

Albrecht replied, "Not everyone. Can't you pretend you have to, you know . . . ?"

"I suppose. I might be able to get away with that in the dark." She started the process of pushing between men and made her way to the beakhead. To a man standing in her way she quipped, "Gotta take a shit. You mind?"

The man moved away from the spot at the fore of the cog. Elisabeth managed to relieve herself without anyone being the wiser.

Back in her old spot, she nodded to Albrecht. "It worked."

"I had an idea about daytime," he whispered as she pressed herself next to him.

"I can try to wait," she suggested.

Albrecht glanced about to see if anyone was regarding them. He shoved something hard against her thigh. "Put this in your britches," he rasped.

"What?" she asked, feeling for whatever it was he was poking her with. It felt like a piece of leather or some other hide. It was about the length and width of her hand. She obediently slipped it under her tunic and shirt and then into her britches.

"Roll it up," Albrecht instructed.

Her eyebrows darted up. "Oh, I get it! Then I just piss through it." She reached in to manipulate the improvised penis.

A man next to her looked her up and down, disgusted. "Can't you do that in private?" he complained as he turned his body so his back was to her.

"I wasn't . . . ," she began. She continued to grapple with the leather piece. She sighed deeply when she was done, then grinned at the man. "There, all done and no accident."

Amazingly the device did the trick. If she could avoid pissing in the daylight she did, but inevitably with the amount of water they all had to drink to survive in the constant sun, she would have to go to the beakhead at some time. She used men's own fear to be tagged as a sodomite against them, glaring and making crude remarks to anyone who seemed to be watching her when she reached into her britches to pull out the device. "See anything you like?" she sneered to one man, who blushed and turned away.

She still got urine on her hose, but some of the men were pissing where they stood, so she smelled better than most.

The voyage saw her and her companions constantly dashing to one side or another to make way for the crew as they grappled with lines, changing the orientation of the one sail to catch the wind, and seemingly constantly in motion, constantly making adjustments to this and that. The result was that Elisabeth and Albrecht found themselves in various parts of the vessel and with new companions. She had a short opportunity to watch the man who hung onto the steering board to help direct their bearing. The rocking motion of the deck actually made standing for hours easier, as shifting to compensate used muscles in her legs and back that should otherwise have cramped.

As the islands south of Greece slid by, Elisabeth admired how the buildings stood so starkly white against the hills behind them. On one occasion she pointed out the ruins of a temple on a summit. Alain, who had managed to worm his way near them, explained about the Ancient Greeks and their gods.

As long as they were following the coast they put in to shore to camp for a night on the beach. Elisabeth found her false penis so convenient, she even used it much of the time they were ashore.

One night ashore dozens of villagers descended on their camp, bringing with them music and a syrupy wine. The young women were dressed gaily if skimpily and proceeded to dance among the campfires. One by one they drew men from the crowd and made them dance with them. Elisabeth was one of the first chosen, and she could tell the bright-eyed woman was hoping for more than the dance. She certainly would have liked to comply, but her luck with the whore in Bologna was unlikely to hold. Finally the young woman danced away to find better prospects.

Elisabeth stood back to watch the merriment, sparing the wine so as not to make some embarrassing mistake. She was taken aback when one of the village men called her over to where a group of them stood with their arms draped over each other's shoulders. They pressed her into the line, and then when the music started, they taught her a line dance with weaving steps. As she mastered them the music and the dance grew rapid. She threw her head back and roared with laughter, reveling in the freedom of the dance. When it finally ended, she was breathless with exertion but elated to receive the back slaps of the men, not one of whom spared his heartiest blow.

Albrecht grinned when she finally rejoined him at their campfire. "My lord, you could have had your pick of the girls. They have been ogling you since the first one picked you out!"

"What about you? No one catch your eye?" she replied, taking a long draught of the weaker wine he offered her.

"Not ready for that yet," Albrecht replied. "Besides, I don't want to get found out."

"Found out how?" came Black Beast's voice as he slipped in beside Elisabeth.

She forestalled the inquiry by making one of her own. "Now what are you doing here, my lord? Why are you not off along the strand with some big-eyed, big-arsed wench?"

The Beast puffed up his chest and answered, "Oh, I have been. Three times so far."

Elisabeth and Albrecht did their best to look like they believed him.

Chapter Eight ~ The Sublime Port

Whatever wonders of man or God she had witnessed to this point in the pilgrimage, Elisabeth was unprepared for her first sight of that golden city itself. As the ships grew nearer, having passed through the narrow strait called the Hellespont and into the Sea of Marmara, they began to see a massive city. As light dimmed, it became a bejeweled and sparkling eminence in the distance, with the utter blackness of the sea at its base. The hubbub on the ship became louder. Then the vessel seemed to drift to a halt.

"There's an imperial barge approaching," Alain explained.

From where she stood, Elisabeth could see the colorful canopies on the barge but little else. The pilgrim knights grew quiet, with only occasional speculative murmurs. At the fore of the ship a grumbling began just before the barge drew away. One could hear "What is it? What's happening?" called in numerous languages from one section of the passengers to another and then another. The ship was underway, but in no time it was clearly sailing due east and not angling to the city.

By the time the news made it to her spot on the deck, the stories Elisabeth heard had metamorphosed into several versions of whatever the truth was. She and Alain listened and then turned to examine what they heard, sharing their analysis with Albrecht and Black Beast and others nearby.

Alain said, "One thing for sure, we are not putting in to Constantinople. We are being redirected."

"Where?"

"Why?"

"What are they going to do with us?"

Alain waved aside all the questions. "I'm not sure. Something happened, something with the Lombards, that has Emperor Alexios hopping mad."

"That doesn't sound promising," Elisabeth sighed.

Someone from a short distance away called to them, "Nicomedia!"

Alain shook his head and cupped an ear with his hand. "Where?"

"Nicomedia! It's in the Gulf of Izmit."

Alain waved acknowledgement and thanks. "Never heard of it."

"It must be farther east," someone observed. "Not too far, I hope."

"Getting a dry arse might be the least of our troubles," Black Beast scowled.

"I thought Alexios called for pilgrim knights to come to his aid against the Turks," Elisabeth queried.

"If the Lombards have not queered our welcome," Alain put in. "In any case, I suppose we will find out soon. You might want to make sure your armor and weapons are in good order."

Jehan de Liege laughed. "What the salt sea won't damage, the piss all over the deck will."

They sailed steadily east with small boats full of armed men in the Emperor's livery on each side, ensuring they put in only where allowed. Elisabeth watched with regret as the magnificent city grew smaller and smaller as they sailed away.

A terrible stench reached her nostrils as they were guided at last into a port on the north shore of the Gulf of Izmit. The gangplank was hoisted into place, and she and her companions followed the rest of the passengers to and over it onto the quay. There men in armor wielding cudgels directed them with shouts and curses in a company into the town of Nicomedia and thence to a fenced-in camp full of ragtag tents, lean-tos, and less identifiable shelters. The camp was crowded and it became clear immediately that this was where the smell had come from. Elisabeth looked at the camp's people. They were peasants, mostly, a few unhealthy-looking priests, one or two dozen men with partial armor but no weapons. She heard the Lombard dialect of Italian spoken.

"Arêtes!" The word was shouted in French, then repeated in what she took for Greek. It came from the left, down along the stretch of fence that ended a matter of a rod's length down that way.

The pilgrims that had just arrived did not need to be told to stop. They had started to balk when they saw the camp gate opening. Shouts of "No!" and "What's the meaning of this?" accompanied the start of a scuffle up ahead.

The commander of the Byzantine guards shouted the same word she had heard, confirming that it was spoken in Greek, the language of the Byzantine Empire. The tumult died down as a man in full European armor came toward them and approached the guard commander. They proceeded to talk and gesture volubly. Neither Elisabeth nor her companions could make much of it.

At last the commander of the guards threw his hands up and, shouting an order, stalked away. The guards stayed where they were, penning in the large group of newly arrived pilgrims. The man who had argued with the commander turned to them. A number of the higher-ranking pilgrims moved to him and encircled him. Between shouted questions, answers, oaths and lamentations, little appeared to be resolved.

Glancing to her left, Elisabeth noticed Ruggiero, the Italian mercenary, striding to where his companions lolled on the sidelines. Beckoning Albrecht, she made a beeline for the mercenary band.

"Why, if it isn't our old friend Elias von Something," Ranulf called to her. "And his pet man."

"What did you find out, Ruggiero?" she insisted, ignoring Ranulf.

The Italian looked at Ranulf, who nodded. "They wanted to take us into that camp, but the officer up there told them we won't go in until we hear from one of our leaders. And the two Stephens, Odo and Conrad have gone to Constantinople to get an explanation."

"Who are these people?" she demanded. She knew they were the Lombards, but wanted both affirmation and amplification.

Scratching his dark, bushy beard, Ruggiero looked back at the camp where inmates now stood pressed against the fence, shouting a combination of insults, pleas, catcalls, and questions to the newly arrived. "They are the Lombards, the pilgrims who came with the Archbishop. Anselm."

"Why are they imprisoned?" Ranulf asked.

"Well, from what I got they arrived by land a couple months ago, basically stripping the land all along the way to the city. Alexios forced them into a camp near the city walls. They broke out and got into the city and ravaged the place."

"Oh God," Elisabeth moaned.

"It gets worse," said Ragnar as he returned from the same errand as Ruggiero. "They stormed the palace and killed one of the Emperor's lions. They are here and under guard because of that. But what do you expect from a rabble?"

"So Anselm did nothing to prevent it?" Albrecht asked, earning a snort of derision from three of the mercenaries and a derisive shake of the head from Thomas.

"Anyway, the big fellow there says we are not to be housed with the Lombards," Ruggiero added. "The high ups are off to get us allowed to enter Constantinople. We are to be escorted there when they get back."

Ranulf put in acerbically, "If they get back."

The commanders did come back. They had the Byzantine guards help to arrange billets for the mass of the army, shiploads of which continued to arrive. They chose a good-sized company of pilgrim knights to return to Constantinople with them. Elisabeth and Albrecht, as well as Black Beast, Alain and Gerhardt and their squires were included. The mercenaries were not.

It was too far to walk back to the great city, would have taken far too long even on horseback. The small groups of knights and squires and a few churchmen were escorted to small rowed boats which made better speed.

It was the month of May, but not the May they knew in France or Germany. If it was spring here, it was no spring they recognized. It seemed bone dry and all but lifeless in the intense heat that reflected off the water into their eyes, blinding them.

As they came closer to the magnificent city of Constantinople they began to pass villas with luxurious gardens, exhaling scents and the sound of fountains, refreshing their souls. They were better disposed to goggle at the great marble walls of the Byzantine metropolis as they loomed ever higher before them. Its stones glowed golden in the summer sunlight, the battlements so high above them that they could not distinguish features on the faces of the patrolling guards there. They made landing at an opulent quay, then followed their escort to the imposing fortress.

The foot of the walls was lush all about with food gardens. The common people who bent to their toil stood, stretched their backs and stared at the walking officers who returned their gazes.

For Elisabeth the journey so far had been quite the adventure, her mind always on learning how to behave convincingly like a man, honing her fighting skills, simply taking care of each part of the trip. Now with the walls before her, walls like no city or town or fortress she had ever seen, her mind turned abruptly back to the purpose of this quest. She glanced at Albrecht who walked alongside her carrying her shield and lance. In his eyes she recognized the same realization.

"Are you thinking about, um, you know?" she asked, taking care not to use her brother's name, now ostensibly hers.

She could see from how he dropped his eyes that he was in fact thinking of Elias, his lover. "Yes, and how much he wanted to come here, see this city, then go on to see Jerusalem."

Elisabeth put one hand on his shoulder. "It all just came over me now, the same."

Albrecht nodded and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. She squeezed his shoulder.

"But," she suggested, "don't you feel him with us? Walking with us and smiling that gleeful smile of his as he tries to see everything at once?"

Her squire glanced sideways at her, his face wondering. "You know, I do. It's not just me? I long for something more tangible, but I do feel he is glad we are come here."

"Sometimes I think I hear him speak."

Albrecht's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he had to put his arm to his mouth to keep from sobbing aloud. He shook his head. He managed to say in a whisper, "I do too. It almost kills me."

She looked at him, concerned. "Would you rather not hear it?"

"No!" he protested vehemently. "No!"

"You two!" Gerhardt's voice came from behind. "That's right, you have never been here before. It does that to a lot of people."

Elisabeth turned to look at him, walking backwards for several paces. "The city? Did you . . . weep?"

"Mayhap. Mayhap not. I'm not going to tell." The German knight gave her a wry smile.

Alain trotted up to join them. "That means he did. Weep at the first sight of Constantinople, I mean." He slapped Albrecht on the back. "I am not ashamed to admit it. I expect my first sight of Jerusalem will have me weeping like a babe in arms."

"Now, so long as you are in arms, no one will know." Black Beast had come up behind him.

Even those who had visited the Sublime City before grew silent as they approached the massive gate set into the wall, almost as tall as the wall itself. More even than that, the fact that it was shining gold overwhelmed even the most jaded. Not gold colored, but actual gold. It was magnificent, awesome, and very intimidating.

At the massive gate the leaders spoke with the captain of the guards posted there. The man looked down the line of knights coming toward him on foot. He seemed to make a sardonic remark, causing Stephen of Blois to redden. Conrad quickly leaned to the captain and spoke to him, then answered the man's worried questions. When the two Stephens and Odo moved through the gate, Conrad stayed in place.

"What's the problem, my lord?" Black Beast asked as he came up to the Constable.

"Nothing much, my friend. They just wanted to make sure you were all part of our party. Go on in. I assume they will have made some provision for our housing. And it had better be fit for our ranks."

The passage through the gate seemed to stop and start, impeding the steady flow of the knights. When she and her friends reached the portal Elisabeth discovered why it had. She stopped suddenly herself, awestruck by what she saw. They were at the start of a broad avenue, broad enough to march three dozen men across. It was finely cobbled with smooth stones. On either side were buildings of such richness she had never seen even singly, no less one after another. "Do even the poor live in palaces?" she breathed.

Alain chuckled. "Non, mon ami. If you stray far off this avenue you will see slums that defy reason. But it is best not to say anything about them."

The walking knights with their squires followed the leaders and their train of servants and men-at-arms up the length of the avenue. Ahead on the steady rise stood a massive building. It seemed almost as wide as the rooftops of the city visible to the pilgrim knights as they marched.

Alain answered her unspoken query. "The Blachernae Palace. Where the Basileus reigns."

"The Basileus?" she looked puzzled.

"The Emperor Alexios Komnenos. That is his title. It's the title of the Emperor or Empress, whichever is supreme."

Elisabeth looked pointedly at him. "Women can rule here?"

"You have never heard of Irene? Theodora? Zoë? Theodosia?"

"How do you know so much, Alain?" she said, shaking her head. She almost commented, "Mayhap our fathers do not want women to know about those who have attained power," but caught herself.

"I listen. I learn. I read. I ask discreet questions." Alain smiled. "It looks like at least our leaders will be given an audience."

Elisabeth watched as the men and a few of their servants were permitted into a gilded gate. They had seen Conrad hasten along the procession of pilgrim knights to catch up, and he was among those who went in. A subdued moan of disappointment went through the procession when after admitting only about two dozen of their number the gate was closed. Armed men, giants really, with pale hair and pale eyes stepped in front of the door, holding weapons and ready for an argument.

"The Verangian guards!" Black Beast indicated the guards with a sweep of his hand. "Norsemen. The Emperor's elite personal army. Magnificent, aren't they?"

Men unarmed but dressed in elaborate garb came forth and started to lead the rest of the party off through an alley that ran along the palace wall. "Those are eunuchs," Gerhardt told her. "Watch out for them. The ones that still have their peckers are usually sodomites."

"You mean some have their members still?" Elisabeth asked.

"Most of them do. A lot of those who have that chopped off die of fever from infection. Only the ones actually housed with the royal women just have their balls and cocks removed." Gerhardt cringed.

Elisabeth mirrored the men's protective grab at their own groins. "But can they still, um, function?"

Alain chuckled, "They can. That's why the warning. Don't lean over to pick anything up when one is around."

Albrecht scowled.

A heavily scented eunuch approached their party. He was dressed in robes of sea-green silk with gold embroidery at the neck, sleeves, hem and open front over a fine white shirt, and wore an outlandish hat made of some sort of brocade. "Most gracious, please to accompany me to the palace gardens. My name is Andronikos Komnenos. It is my distinct honor to have you all as guests in my villa."

The three knights exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Elisabeth tried not to look at the eunuch's groin area.

Only Albrecht met the man's eye. He saw a tall, well made man with strong facial features and a short beard with just a hint of gray streaking the black. The dark eyes sparkled as he nodded in return to Albrecht's frank inspection.

Andronikos led them down the alley. Elisabeth was appalled to hear Gerhardt whisper to Alain, "But I thought eunuchs couldn't grow facial hair."

The eunuch turned with an indulgent smile. "That is usually correct, my lords. It depends on the age of the boy when he is castrated."

Albrecht smiled triumphantly at the three knights' backs.

Andronikos, accompanied by two male servants, led them through a small gate into a large garden and bade them rest while he went to his house and arranged for their rooms. As soon as the eunuch's back was seen hurrying down the alley the three knights began to jest about him and eunuchs in general. Elisabeth quickly called to Albrecht, "Squire, come with me. I need you to help me fix a broken thong on my chain mail." She led him a short distance to where a fountain played. "I am sorry, Albrecht. Do you want me to tell them to lay off?"

Her squire fiddled with the hem of her mail. There were no broken thongs but he had to act like he was doing something. From where he knelt he replied, "No, my lord, it is not necessary. I should be used to that by now. Besides, I think Alain might be hiding something himself."

"You think he is a sod . . . a lover of men?"

Albrecht grimaced at her slip. "I don't know, but I've caught him looking at you with that sort of look."

She looked over at the French knight. "Either that or he knows what I am."

They drifted back to the three knights after giving them time to get the eunuch jests out of their systems. "You should see that fountain," she said. "It has more gold on it than an Archbishop's robe."

All five glanced over as Andronikos came toward them. "Please to come with me, noble sirs."

As they went out of the garden and down the alley Alain asked, "Komnenos? That's the Basileus's surname, is it not?"

The eunuch's placid smile turned to him. "That is a fact, glorious sir. I am his cousin thrice removed."

"Why did he remove you?" Gerhardt asked.

"Or what did he remove?" Black Beast inserted.

Elisabeth whirled. "Is that the behavior of a knight of the Cross?" she shot at them both.

"Do not chide the noble knights, my lord, on my account," the eunuch said gently. "I am not ashamed of what I am. If the good sirs derive entertainment from that, I do not mind. In our golden city being a eunuch can bring riches, power and gifts. My mother and father chose this life for me so that I might serve the Basileus the better."

Seeing the three knights look humbled, Elisabeth smirked back at them triumphantly.

The rooms they were given in the palatial house of the Emperor's cousin thrice removed were as large and well appointed as many of the halls the five had seen in Germany and France. Each was housed with a choice of servants, male or female, though Elisabeth insisted she was content to keep her own squire with her. They were allowed to rest. Andronikos sent a servant to tell them they would be roused from their beds to have baths in time for him to conduct them to the palace for a feast. The three knights instantly regretted asking for male servants, imagining the delights of a woman bathing them.

Rising from the luxuriantly soft bed in her room, Elisabeth saw that fresh clothes had been set out for her. A large metal tub was in the middle of the floor with a screen around three sides of it. A young woman sat on its edge and swirled fragrant oils into the steamy water. Elisabeth stopped short when she saw her, leaving the laces of her linen shirt partly untied. "Where's Albrecht? I mean, my squire?" she croaked out.

The woman quickly stood and bowed. "Excellency, your squire has gone to inquire about your animals. If it will be permitted, your humble servant will prepare your bath and bathe you."

She kept her eyes down, her gaze curtained by thick, long lashes. She was clad in a light silk gown that did little to hide the darker parts of her anatomy. Elisabeth's eyes strayed to areola and pubic hair clearly outlined under the thin fabric. She caught herself, embarrassed, but it looked like the woman had not noticed. "That's not necessary. My squire will take care of that when he returns."

The woman looked up dismayed. Before she could lower her gaze, Elisabeth caught sight of honey-colored eyes. Honey! She had never seen eyes that color before. Her throat tight, she stammered, "What is your name? Where are you from?"

The woman answered in a servant's respectful voice. "My name is Maliha, Excellency. I am a Turk. Well, half Turk, half Greek. My mother was Turkish and named me." She looked troubled as if she had spoken too much.

"Oh?" Elisabeth responded. "That's interesting. She raised you alone?" She leaned a hip against a table, crossed one ankle over another, and stood trying not to let her glance sink to those fascinating shadows. Without her realizing it, the tip of her tongue slipped out and ran along her lower lip.

Maliha twisted her hands together. "The Excellency is kind to ask about this unworthy servant."

"No, I am truly interested." Elisabeth started to chew on a fingernail.

"I do not know who my father was, lord. I only know that he was Greek."

Elisabeth looked up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . "

Tilting her head Maliha looked up at her. "No, Excellency, it is for me to beg your forgiveness. I will leave you alone. Just call for more hot water and towels should your Excellency need them."

The pilgrim knight discovered she didn't want the woman to leave, in spite of her initial panic. "Can't you stay until my squire returns?"

Something like trepidation crossed the woman's face. "Of course, noble sir. Just tell me what . . . you want me . . . to do for you." She tried to hide her confusion. "Do you want me to undress?"

Elisabeth's face went red. "Just talk. I just want you to talk with me," she assured quickly. "Until my squire returns. Unless you will be chastised for lingering."

Maliha looked up again, her face full of uncertainty. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind. Her features relaxed. "I am here for your pleasure, Excellency. If you want to talk, I shall talk, and deem it my rare privilege."

The two stood not speaking, Maliha's eyes downcast, Elisabeth's averted. The knight ventured, "Can you not look at me, Maliha?"

"I will do whatever you ask, my lord."

"Then look at my face." The dark beauty lifted her chin and looked straight into Elisabeth's face. "What a remarkable color!" Elisabeth said.

"Excellency?"

"Your eyes. I have never seen honey-colored eyes on anyone."

Maliha's face displayed some relief. "A lioness, my lord. They often have honey-colored eyes."

"They do? I have never seen a real lion. Mayhap I should call you my lioness?"

Maliha peered into her face. "You may call me whatever your Excellency wishes." She took a step toward her. "Do I please you?"

The door to the chamber opened and Albrecht came in, startled to find his "lord" talking to a young Turkish woman.

Elisabeth was both relieved and regretful. "Here is my squire," she proclaimed ebulliently. "He's all I need. You can go now, Maliha." Seeing her crestfallen look she assured, "But you will come back some time, will you not?"

The woman bowed several times as she backed out of the chamber. Albrecht looked at her as she passed him. "Your Excellency need only call for your poor servant," the woman said, and turned and dashed out the door.

"What the hell was that all about?" the squire asked.

Elisabeth stared at the closed door. "That? That was a honey-eyed lioness."

Albrecht looked from the door back to his "master." A smile started to play on his lips. "Did you not want her to bathe you?" he inquired, nodding toward the screen that hid the tub.

Elisabeth looked up with wide eyes. "Oh, my God no! How could I do that? She'd find out!"

Bathed, dressed and escorted to the palace, Elisabeth noticed a speculative look cross her host's visage. She chalked it up to her refusal to accept his servant's ministrations. She hoped she had not caused trouble for the woman.

At the palace Elisabeth found herself seated far from the imperial dais as the most sumptuous meal she had ever had was paraded up and down the gigantic room. Her three knightly companions were at her table. They were elbowing each other and recounting the lovely baths each had had. Black Beast turned to her. "How about you, Elias? I thought I saw a little flower dance in and out of your chamber with towels and very little else."

Elisabeth thought to join in on the ribald talk, but at the same time felt it somehow discourteous to lie about bedding a woman she had not. She shrugged and took a gulp of her wine. "Not my taste," she muttered.

"As if that was the situation. Probably left her unconscious," Black Beast jested, elbowing the other two who laughed.

At the high table on the dais, a man in rich clothes and more gems than Elisabeth had ever seen in one place bent his head this way and that, speaking with the Stephens, Odo and Conrad. Servants dashed back and forth behind them, filling goblets and serving from gold platters. One young boy carried a porcelain bowl to each man and held it as each man dipped his fingers, while another boy stood ready with towels. Four or five eunuchs stood behind the Basileus and his guests watching for any need, scowling and barking orders at the servants.

Elisabeth was both curious and a little anxious about the food offered to her. A servant would bring a platter to their table and offer its contents to each knight. The squires then reached across the table to serve their masters whatever they selected. "What is it," she asked Albrecht in a whisper as he scooped some sort of slimy black mass onto her golden plate.

"How should I know? It smells fishy," he whispered back.

Elisabeth had noticed the men at the table on the dais picking at something with tiny slender utensils with tines. From where she sat she could not see precisely what they did with these instruments, so she let her glance slide to Gerhardt. He raised the slim utensil, speared some white cheese on it, and dipped it in the gelatinous mass. He smiled at her as he closed his lips on the utensil and seemed to savor the taste.

She matched his actions and found herself with a mouthful of something exotic and sensual to the tongue. "It's salty!" she said, surprised. "What is it?"

Gerhardt replied around a taste of the unknown delicacy. "Fish eggs." He chuckled at Elisabeth's surprised look, but all she did was shrug and go on eating.

This first course was followed by a remarkable variety of dishes. There was all types of bread and dried and fresh fruits, many of which she did not recognize. One cold concoction seemed to be onions and mint in what someone called a "zucchini." It was refreshing. Later a similarly bracing bowl of leaves with a sprinkling of herbs and a sweet and tart honey and vinegar dressing was followed by the main dish, a goat stuffed with onions and other vegetables, smothered in a fish sauce. A rich red wine was served throughout the meal, which ended with honey cakes, nuts and more fruit.

Elisabeth caught sight of Andronikos as the man hovered here and there. Seeing her look, the eunuch hurried over to her.

"May I serve you, my Lord Elias?"

She searched for something to ask for. "Oh, yes, Andronikos. Can you tell me who that man is next to the Basileus, the one with an eye patch?"

The man looked up. "That is his Grace, Count Raymond of Toulouse. He who led the pilgrims to Jerusalem."

"Raymond de Saint Gilles is here?" she said, astonished.

"Yes, noble sir. He is joining your party when you leave at the end of the month. He is a great friend of the Great Basileus. He goes to lend the Emperor's help to your holy quest." He answered two or three other questions Elisabeth posed.

After their host had moved away to find some other need to fulfill, Black Beast grumbled, "From the looks of it, Toulouse is coming along to keep us newcomers in line."

Elisabeth shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. What did our fey friend say about our leaving?"

She considered the huge man. "Just that we are leaving for Ancyra once our animals and supplies are ready. Before June."

"That gives us better than a fortnight, then." Alain seemed pleased. "Plenty of time to taste some of the pleasures this city can offer."

"I haven't seen anyone who looks like a Lombard Archbishop," Black Beast put in.

Alain offered, "Andronikos said he has been ill since he arrived. He won't be coming with us."

The morning after the grand feast Elisabeth awoke late. The sun streamed through the open latticed window. She looked over to find a small round table sitting next to the bed with a sweetened drink made of honey, fruit, almonds and yogurt, some flat bread and a hot drink that was bitter to the tongue. Somewhere someone was playing an exotic stringed instrument. The breeze wafting lazily into the chamber was fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms. She sighed deeply with pleasure.

"Why don't you come in and share this food with me?" she called to Albrecht who slept on a palette near the room's door.

"Are you awake, Excellency?" came a soft voice from the balcony of her chamber. The gauzy window drapes parted and the honey-eyed Maliha looked in.

Elisabeth scrambled to pull up the cover so that her loose shirt, open in the front, would not give away her possession of small but decidedly female breasts. "You?" she cried. "I thought you were Albrecht."

She realized that with the sound of Maliha's voice the music had stopped. "Was that you playing?"

"Did it disturb you, my lord?"

"No, of course not. It was delightful. But Maliha, you must stop coming into my room unannounced. It's . . . unseemly." Elisabeth knew she must be scarlet with embarrassment.

Maliha stood framed in the door to the balcony, a shaft of morning light giving her dark hair an aura effect. Her face was open and unhappy. "But exalted one, you asked me to come back. If this lowly servant displeases you, I am sure my master will find you one more to your liking." Her eyelashes dropped to kiss her cheek. She ventured, "Mayhap a young man or boy?"

From the bed, Elisabeth stared at her. "N-no, I mean, you do not disturb me. It's just, well, in my homeland a young . . . man . . . values his . . . um, privacy. We expect servants to make themselves known by tapping or scratching on the door before entering."

The darkly lovely young woman looked as if to weep. "But, your Excellency, I did tap on the door. You did not call out, so I came in."

Open-mouthed, Elisabeth shook her head. "No, Maliha, I mean tap on the door, wait, and only come in when you hear Albrecht or me say to come in."

Maliha nodded, but it was not clear if she understood. She glanced up to peer sideways into the bed. "Is Albrecht not here?" She quickly added, "My lord?"

"He must not be, if you came in the door there." Elisabeth pulled aside the light bed curtain to look to where Albrecht slept. The palette was cleared away, probably stowed under Elisabeth's bed. "No, he is not here."

"I have displeased your Excellency. I hope you will accept an apology from so unworthy a person," Maliha murmured meekly.

Elisabeth gazed at her, exasperated. "I know you are supposed to talk like that to . . . well, your master's guests, but I wish you wouldn't. I hate that sort of talk from a woman, from anyone." Elisabeth glared off to the side. She did not therefore see the flash of surprised anger in the woman's eyes.

Just then a tap came at the chamber door. "Come," she called. She was relieved when the person who looked in was not one of the three knights. Nor was it Albrecht. One of the male servants bowed, hardly giving Maliha a glance, and said, "My master would like to have the company of his honor to sup with him this day in the pavilion. May I tell his Excellency to expect the young lord?" He waited silently for an answer.

"What time of day is it now, and when is the supper?" Elisabeth inquired.

With another bow, the man supplied, "The sun is near zenith, your lordship, and supper will be in just over two hours."

She wracked her brain for any sort of commitment. Thinking of none, she nodded. "Tell my gracious host that I should be honored to have supper with him. May I ask, who else will attend?"

Now the man glanced at Maliha who stood, her honey-colored eyes again downcast and shaded from view by the luxuriant lashes. Looking back but not quite at the bed, the man replied, "You are to be my master's especial guest."

"Oh. Very well. Can you find my squire and send him to me? I wish to dress."

Again the man looked over at Maliha. "May this lowly maidservant be of service in that regard, your honor?"

"No. I want Albrecht."

With raised eyebrows the man at the door bowed and said, "Very good, your Excellency. Maliha!" He clapped his hands and said something in Greek that Elisabeth could not understand. Whatever it was, it distressed the young woman. She scurried to the door and slipped out behind the manservant.

Elisabeth hurried to assure. "The maidservant is not at all displeasing to me. I just prefer my squire."

The man bowed once more, very deeply, and backed out.

"How peculiar," Elisabeth breathed.

With her tardy squire's help Elisabeth washed and dressed to be ready for the supper.

Albrecht hesitated after speaking the words, "My lord?"

"Yes?"

"It might sound odd coming from me, but remember the other day, what the knights were saying about eunuchs? That you need to watch out that they don't, well, take advantage?"

Elisabeth stared dumbfounded at her squire. "Are you saying that this supper is . . . a seduction?"

"I-it could be."

She laughed. "Somehow I don't think the Basileus would think much of even a cousin, albeit three times removed, raping the pilgrim knights he has asked to help him repel the Turks. Men can be raped, can't they?"

"Indeed they can, my lord. But Andronikos might think you may, well, want to be seduced. He is a fine looking man. You are too, after a manner of speaking."

Adjusting her belt to allow for the proper draping of her tunic, she protested, "But he sent me a woman to, well, wash me, and do whatever I wanted." She looked up at Albrecht, realization dawning. "And I keep sending her away. Oh, sweet Jesus."

Albrecht looked away. "Just be aware. That's all I am saying."

He looked back at her face and saw an impish grin there.

"It would be rather a comedy, wouldn't it?"

He saw the laughter building in her eyes and started to laugh himself. Through his laughter, he managed to get out, "It certainly is a situation I never thought I'd witness."

Chapter Nine ~ Seduction

Entering the garden from the villa, Elisabeth looked for the pavilion. It was a large tent, made of pure white muslin. She crossed the garden to where it stood, right in the middle of the walled inner garden. As she approached it a manservant in pristine white bowed and held the flap for her to enter.

The interior of the pavilion was cool but bright. She saw why instantly. It had been built over and around a small fountain that kept the heat of the sun that radiated through the white walls from making the space into an oven. The scent of jasmine and some exotic oriental incense met her delighted senses. The floor of the tent was all luxuriant rugs. She saw Andronikos settled comfortably into a pile of opulent, brocaded and be-tasseled pillows. He was drawing smoke through some sort of bottle with water in it. She gave him a courteous bow.

"Ah, my lord. Welcome to my humble pleasure garden. I hoped you would be able to share my supper with me. Come, come and sit here." Andronikos was in royal blue silk with gold thread embroidery in a geometric pattern down the frogged front. It was a color that became his graying hair and beard. She went to the pile of cushions and sank into a position with her legs crossed at her ankles. "Will you take wine?"

"Your Excellency, I am flattered at the invitation. We are not expecting any of the other knights?"

Andronikos smiled languidly. "No indeed, we shall be quite alone."

The man poured wine into a cup from a ewer with a long spout. Elisabeth took the wine cup and drank . "What is that bottle you are smoking from?"

"It is called a hookah. The water takes the bite out of the smoke. The herbs in it are a mix of mild drugs and fragrant leaves. It is harmless," he added, seeing her hesitation. He went on, "I shall have the servants bring in the dishes right away, if you please, so we will not be disturbed."

Elisabeth accepted the pipe's mouthpiece and sucked while her host clapped his hands and ordered his servant to bring in the food. She coughed. "If the water takes out the bite, I hate to taste it without the filtering."

The older man reassured, "One gets used to it. Take the smoke into your lungs and hold it there for a while. That hastens the effect."

"And what is that effect?" she asked, taking in a deep breath and holding it longer.

"Not unlike inebriation, and like inebriation, its impact depends on the quantity you take in."

The servants came in with platters and bowls of what seemed as rich a variety of delicacies as the Basileus's great reception. Andronikos had them put the dishes on a low table placed in front of the two reclining on the pillows. "Have some oysters," the eunuch suggested.

Elisabeth reached into the plate and picked out an oyster that simmered in a rich garlicky sauce and popped one of them into her mouth. Andronikos did the same, looking into her face as he bit his oyster in half, ate the rest and sensually licked the sauce from his lips.

"I thank you, your Excellency, for your generosity in providing me and my servant such a magnificent lodging."

Andronikos proffered different bowls and platters, and asked, "And you are being served well, my lord, by my own servants?"

She nodded vigorously. Around a mouthful of rice and fruit wrapped in a dark green leaf and cooked, she said "Indeed, most satisfactory."

"And the girl. She pleases you?"

Elisabeth looked up sharply. Blushing, she said, "Maliha? Well enough, my lord. I have not had much for her to do. She is willing enough."

The older man looked down as if trying to think how to say something. "You do not take her to your bed?"

Elisabeth reddened further. Telling herself it might be a proper question for a host in this part of the world, she counseled herself to calm. "M-my lord, no. It is not necessary. I have no need of that . . . her."

A pleased smile spirited across the eunuch's lips. "If there is anything at all you require, my lord, do not hesitate to ask."

"I did ask the young woman to make herself known and wait for invitation to enter the chamber. I should like all the servants to do the same," she asserted.

"I shall make it known. Never fear. Now let us enjoy this modest fare so we can relax and . . . talk . . . after."

The meal was pleasing but did not leave one over-full. The older man continued to press wine and the hookah on Elisabeth. Though the air in the tent was not hot, it was warm and fragrant. She took her cup and leaned back on the cushions, feeling more than a little somnolent.

"My lord, may I call you Elias? I insist you call me by my given name." The eunuch said softly.

"But of course, Andronikos," she replied and toasted him with wine.

Andronikos smiled and gazed up at the roof of the tent. The sun was creeping behind a thick tree, muting the light within. "In Germany, in your home, did you have a betrothed?"

"I did. I left . . . her behind."

"Did you have anyone . . . special? Besides her, of course."

Elisabeth thought about Elias. "There was one . . . fellow, like a brother to me, really."

"A brother?"

"Yes, very much like a brother. He is no longer with us."

"You mean he left the pilgrimage?"

"No." Her voice trailed off. "He passed on. He died."

Andronikos lifted himself on his elbow and leaned closer. "Oh my dear, how sad. I grieve for his loss, for your loss."

Elisabeth smiled gratefully. "I miss him terribly. So does Albre . . . so does my squire."

Andronikos's eyebrows lifted. "So?"

Elisabeth closed her eyes. A languor had stolen over her. She thought she might drift off, but lacked the volition to fight it. She felt the older man shift on the cushions. All at once, he was lying lightly on her, his arms on the cushions on either side of her waist. Her eyes shot open to find the man's face inches from her own. His eyes were so full of longing that it took her breath away.

"Andronikos!" she breathed when she could speak again. The languor, the sensuality of the food, the drink, the scented air, the muted light and soft pillows made her want to let the man sink down into her.

"My sweet, do not fear. I know the truth, your secret. It is safe with me." He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. "So soft, so smooth."

"You know? How can you know?"

Andronikos reached his hand to her throat and caressed it, letting his finger slip under the collar of her tunic. "I sense it. If you know what to look for, it is easy to see."

She glanced down at her tunic to see if her breasts were defying the cloth that bound them. "Ah," she sighed.

He let his lips just brush hers. "So sweet. So fair. I have never seen a man so seductively soft yet fully a man." He stopped astonished as Elisabeth jerked and pushed him away.

"No, no, you don't understand. I am not . . . you are not . . . I can't!" She had lifted one knee to push herself with her heel and barely missed kneeing the man in his groin. She felt the stiffness there. "I am sorry. You are such a good-looking man. It's just . . . "

Andronikos, his eyes lowered and a sardonic smile on his lips, pulled himself to a sitting position. "No, no, my lord, do not apologize. It is for me to do so. I misread the signals, I am sorry. I hope you will not despise me now."

Elisabeth sat up and shifted to her knees. Her head was still fuzzy, but the sudden awareness was bringing her back to her senses. "No, no, I shall not despise you. I never would. Love is love. Pleasure is pleasure. I don't care what anyone says. It's just that you and I are not . . . "

The man's chin lifted and he smiled ruefully. "Meant to be?" he suggested.

She gazed at him. "That's it. We were not meant to be. But . . . " She smiled. "It is not without some regret, your Excellency."

His eyes reflected relief and gratitude. He started to his feet. "I thank you, young lord, for your excellent company. Now I must beg your leave. I am afraid I have an appointment."

Elisabeth sprang to her own feet and bowed. "I understand. Thank you as well for this lovely afternoon and the succulent supper." She backed away, while Andronikos looked regretfully after her.

Outside the pavilion the eunuch's servant gave her one wondering look, then fell back into inscrutability. She glanced at him, mumbled something, and made her way quickly into the villa.

For the rest of that day and much of the next, Elisabeth had little time to dwell on the awkwardness of any encounters with Andronikos.

The honey-eyed woman did not appear that same evening nor in the morning. Elisabeth realized she had not seen her anywhere. She found herself looking for Maliha as she moved through the house, longing to catch a glimpse of her.

"Where is the woman who was serving me, you know, Maliha?" she finally asked the man who seemed to be a sort of chamberlain to Andronikos.

"Who, my lord? Oh, the half-Turkish woman? We let her go. She was not working out in the house."

"You did what?" she cried. "Why?"

The man looked annoyed. Pulling himself up to his full height, he replied in a dignified way, "She did not fit. She had no understanding of what was required of her. You yourself said . . . "

"I said nothing of the kind. Where did she go?" Elisabeth was frantic. She felt responsible for the young woman's departure. "Where does she live?"

The man pressed his thin lips tight together. "I am sure I do not know."

Growing ever angrier and more frustrated, Elisabeth put her hand to where her sword would normally be. The fact that it was in her chamber just fueled her irritation. She glanced about. "I shall speak to your master about your insolence!"

The manservant's face paled. "Please, my lord, do not. I can only tell you that the girl must live outside the city walls. Turks are not allowed to live within unless they have some employment with a Greek household."

"But she's only half Turkish!"

The man's lips curled almost imperceptibly. "Is she? That is what they all claim."

Elisabeth moved close to the man to use her superior height to intimidate him. "Has it ever occurred to you that there are lots of children in this city who are the product of Greek cocks not caring where they leave their seed?" She stood glaring and breathing hard on the man whose face was still pale and averted. "Where do I find the Turkish sector?"

The man tried to ease away. She stepped forward to keep her face above his. "Your Excellency, you should go to the Gate of St. Romanus and ask there. It is just outside. Ask for the street of the laundresses."

"And where might that gate be?" she demanded.

"North and west. On the other side of the city. Ask anyone on the street. But, my lord, you will have to go through some rough sectors. Stay on the main avenue."

Her lower lip thrust out menacingly, Elisabeth stared into his face a few moments, then stepped back. Without another glance or sound, she spun on her heel and dashed to her own chamber.

When she arrived she remembered that Albrecht was out arranging for provisions. She would have to go alone. She found her coat of chain mail and her belt, sheath and sword. She struggled into the coat and belted her sword atop her crusader's tabard. Without a word to anyone, she hurried out of the house, stood looking up and down the wide street with its rows of villas, and turned to the west.

Elisabeth's long strides helped to make up for the fact that she was unsure how to get to the gate. That and the fact that at the sight of chain mail and a sword on a knight who looked fit to kill opened a path before her as she went. She did not look at the buildings as she threaded her way, so she did not notice the change from marble halls to rickety wooden tenements. Instead of more or less clean cobbled-streets the way was muddy. During the first part of her journey, people she passed were in various dress, from elegant to modest but neat. Here the people she passed became ragged and dirty and their demeanor hostile. She did not know how close she came to being pounced upon by a gang of youths. It was only her determination that made them fall back, that and the guards at the gate.

One of those let his spear slant away from his armored body to block her way.

"Stand aside. I have business without," Elisabeth demanded, her hand now on the hilt of her sword.

"Not so fast, my lord. You must state your business," the man demanded as firmly. He spoke in Frankish, just understandable to Elisabeth.

She pulled her sword out of its sheath an inch but thought better of it. Letting it slide back home, she relaxed. "I seek a woman in the Turkish sector."

The guard's eyebrow shot up. "If you desire a woman, there are cleaner women in the city."

"I don't desire a woman. I seek one woman in particular. Her name is Maliha."

Grinning, the man scoffed, "I don't know their names!"

Elisabeth remembered what the manservant said. "Show me to the street of the laundresses." She felt in her pouch for a coin. Of the three she found, she proffered the silver one.

The guard stared at her for a few moments. He nodded slowly, took the coin, and walked her to the wicket in the gate. "I will need your name, my lord."

"The Ritter Elias von Winterkirche," she stated haughtily.

The guard made her repeat it twice, then as she went through the open gate called after her, "Be careful. These hell-spawn would just as soon slit your gullet as look at you."

Elisabeth did not look back but headed in the direction the man had pointed. If the slum in the city was bad, the makeshift shanties were foul. There was barely room for one person to pass down the streets. Naked children, many with sores, stood with huge bellies staring empty-eyed at her as she went by. Their lassitude was such that they did not even stretch out their arms to beg. She strode down the passageways, keeping her eyes moving from straight ahead to dart up and over to guard against ambush. She heard women's voices up ahead and the splashing of water and slap of wet cloth. She all but ran the rest of the way.

When she emerged into a small wide area with a circular well surrounded by women who were soaked themselves with dirty water, she stopped and looked around. One woman dropped a heavy pile of wet clothing in the mud and screamed. The others whirled and seeing a Frankish knight in their midst they too began to scream, to snatch up children, and to back away.

"Where can I find Maliha?" Elisabeth shouted.

The women stood clumped together staring, some weeping.

Elisabeth frantically surveyed them. "Maliha? Where can I find Maliha?"

"I am here," came a familiar voice from the door to a slanting shack. "What the hell do you think coming here?"

Elisabeth shot her eyes toward the sound. "Maliha! There you are! I came to find you!"

"Why? What would you want with me?"

The honey-colored eyes glared at her, full of affronted pride. If Elisabeth had despised the meekness and subservience, her heart pounded at the defiance and fire in those eyes. Her jaw dropped, she felt heat rise in her body, starting in her belly and creeping up. She strode to the woman. "Where can we be alone?" she spat through her teeth.

The honey eyes burned into her dark angry ones. They darted to the other women who were now chattering among themselves. "Come in here, away from those hens." Maliha led her through the flap over the entry and into darkness.

As she turned to face Elisabeth, she found herself clasped hard, strong hands biting into her upper arms. Her cry of protest was cut off as the knight's lips found hers in the darkness and pressed hard. Elisabeth's tongue forced its way into her mouth. She bit it.

Elisabeth jumped back, putting her hand to her mouth and tasting blood. "Why did you do that?"

"Why do you think? Do you think I should want you to force your way into my home and rape me?" Maliha punched her square in the chest. "You wanted me to stop being meek. Well, doesn't this please you, Excellency," she shot, with a sneer in her voice. She hauled off and slugged Elisabeth in the chest with both fists.

"Ow, that hurt!" Elisabeth exclaimed. Then she felt silly. Why should a knight cry out that a mere woman punched him in his chest. But the woman had connected with her nipples, which were already tender with her monthly flux.

She stood a moment, perplexed. Maliha had gone still. Elisabeth's eyes were adjusting and she could see the woman's head-covering had slipped askew, letting the long black hair loose on the right side of her head. Her impulse was to reach toward Maliha and take her into her arms. But instead the dark beauty came forward and placed herself there. The chin tipped up, the lips parted. Her own eyes wide, Elisabeth lowered her head and sank into a kiss of such poignant sweetness she thought she would swoon.

Maliha had had a sudden revelation. There was something about this knight, something that did not fit what she knew of men. The bearing was right but the look in the man's eyes was wrong. Men did not look with such intensity into a woman's eyes, she thought. The kiss had been hard but something was different there too. A man would force the kiss, devouring her. And then there was an odd sense of lumps on the knight's breast, even through the chain mail. Her mind raced back over their encounters in the past few days and certain things presented themselves in a new light. Could it be?

She decided to collect more information, and thus leaned into the man to invite him to kiss her. This time the kiss was softer, more sensual, and Maliha started to explore with her tongue. The feel was much like a ripe peach, soft, yielding, but ardent. It reminded Maliha of an exquisite night she had spent with a female cousin when they were still girls.

Maliha raised her arms and put them around the knight's neck. Elisabeth's own mailed arms slowly snaked around the soft yielding body in her arms. She felt Maliha press her body along her own. She could not think to wonder what had changed. Their tongues met in each other's mouths and sweetly slid across and under each other. She felt Maliha's tongue slide along inside her teeth. She felt as if the juices in her most private place were flowing out of her and down her britches.

A shrill voice came from the doorway. Maliha jumped back and spun. She screamed something angry in Turkish. The older woman who had a small child in her arms returned vituperation for vituperation.

Elisabeth stood, stunned, unable to understand a word. The exchange continued with growing heat. Finally Maliha snatched the child out of the woman's arms, turned to Elisabeth and, grabbing her elbow, pushed her out a back doorway.

Outside the three were not alone. Other women and several children squatted in the mud at various activities.

"Get out of here!" Maliha shouted and gave Elisabeth a shove that nearly knocked her over.

"Maliha, I love you! I am going to get your position back in Andronikos's house. It was my fault they let you go."

Maliha stood holding the child on her hip. Her face changed to an expression of revelation. "I wondered if you had gotten me sacked. Why did you do that?"

The shrill voice came from within the shack. Maliha's face turned in the voice's direction. "You have to go. Yes, please try to get my position back. See if you can get them to let me bring my son."

"Your son?" Elisabeth was astonished. The voice shrilled again. "Yes, yes, I will do that. Come to the house tomorrow. I will see to it that . . . "

"Just go! You are putting us in danger already. I will be there."

Elisabeth turned and dashed away. When she got to the gate and saw the smirk on the guard's face, she hauled off and slugged him as hard as she could in the mouth. "Don't you say a single word. Not a breath!" she growled, then passed him and strode away up the miserable street of the slum.

Elisabeth slipped into Andronikos's villa and went straight to her chamber. She slammed the door shut, went to her bed and threw herself on it, chain mail, sword and all. She was miserable. And she had a dilemma. She would beg the eunuch to take back Maliha and let her bring the boy, but then what? How would she break the news to Maliha that she herself was a woman? Would she make a scene and tell everyone? She kept playing a scene in her head, over and over, of a horrified pair of honey-colored eyes screaming at her, "Unnatural! Abomination!"

She heard the door slide open and shut quietly. "I thought I said to ask first!" she spat.

A pause, then Albrecht's voice. "May I come in, my lord?"

Elisabeth sat up on the edge of the bed. She swiped across her eyes with a corner of the counterpane. Albrecht stood and stared at her. Elisabeth had wept before him in the past, but nothing like this. He looked her up and down. "My lord! You are bleeding! What happened?" He dashed to her and knelt to examine the blood on her britches. "Are you cut?"

She looked down and saw the spots of blood on her britches. She jumped up and turned around. Seeing the stain on the counterpane, she wailed. "Damn it, I suppose everyone in Constantinople saw the bloodstains down my legs as I went through the streets. I have my flux, that's all."

He stared at her. "You don't usually get like this when you are . . . well . . . on the rag. Here, let me help you. Would a bath make you feel better?"

Still weeping, she nodded her head. "Thank you. There is no better place to feel miserable than in a hot bath."

Albrecht went to the door to summon a servant to arrange the bath. He helped Elisabeth remove her soiled clothing and wrapped her in a robe. He gathered up the counterpane and threw it in a heap on the floor. "I will wash them out myself. No one ever needs to know."

"Oh Albrecht, I am so miserable! That girl, that woman, Maliha. I got her let go."

He looked at her. "Why did you do that, my lord?"

Elisabeth's eyes brimmed over again. "I didn't mean to. I dismissed her from serving me, that's all, but Andronikos sent her away completely. I went to find her, to bring her back."

Taking the soiled items to a basin, he poured cold water over them and started to scrub and rinse. "Did you find her?"

"Yes, I did. I told her to come back here and I would have her position back."

He paused and turned to look at her. "I don't understand why you are . . . " He held his tongue at the sound of scratching at the door.

Elisabeth called, "Come," and then averted her eyes so the servants coming in with the large tub and screen would not see her tearstained cheeks.

When the door was firmly shut behind them she put her face in her hands. "Albrecht, I love her."

He stood perplexed. "But, the worst that can happen when she comes back is that you remain aloof. She doesn't need to know you love her. "

"But when I kissed her she kissed me back!"

"Oh," was all Albrecht could say.

"She will expect me to take her to my bed, but how can I do that? She would find out I am a woman too."

Albrecht grasped the situation at last. "You will simply have to keep her at arm's distance, my lord."

She turned a miserable face to him. "I know," she moaned.

Albrecht suggested, "Andronikos must have other work, other houses. You could ask him to send her there. Or just say you changed your mind."

Sparks flew from her eyes as she regarded him. "I won't do that! I love the woman, but even did I not I would never do such a thing. She told me her and her son's lives are in danger because of me. I would rather die."

"All right, all right!" he protested. "It was just a suggestion."

She continued to glare at him. Then her shoulders dropped again and she leaned forward, and put her face in her hands. "It's hopeless."

When the bath was ready, he took her robe and held her steady as she lowered herself into the tub. "Drape a sheet over the tub, would you? There's a little chill in here," she asked.

Elisabeth lay sunk into the tub with the hot fragrantly oiled water up to and covering her chin. Albrecht looked at her face. She did look broken hearted. How well he knew what that felt like. He thought, "At least I had Elias. Will she ever have someone like that?" Aloud he asked her, "Would you like me to wash your hair?"

Elisabeth stretched languidly in the water. "Yes, I would. And can you get me some wine?" She knew she was being childish or, rather, womanish. A derisive chuckle escaped her throat.

Albrecht heard a tap at the door. He pulled the screen around the tub more securely. "That is probably more hot water. I will order the wine and some food as well." He heard an inarticulate sound from the tub that he took as acknowledgement.

When he opened the door a crack, he saw Maliha standing outside in the corridor holding a large heavy ewer of hot water. She quickly shook her head, her eyes communicating for him not to say anything.

"You can't," he whispered.

"I know," she mouthed. She gestured for him to take the ewer. She pointed toward the screen and cupped her own breasts. She put her lips to his ear and said in a breath, "Let me go to her."

Albrecht's mind was racing. She had said "her" and it was apparent from the mime that indeed she somehow knew that his pilgrim knight was a woman. And there was nothing but a smile and tenderness on the maidservant's face. His eyes rounded. His own lips curved up at the edges. He radiated thankfulness as he nodded and gave her back the hot water ewer. He made a gesture of farewell and slipped past her through the door to make himself scarce.

Maliha set the ewer on a table while she shut and latched the door after him.

"Was that the servant?" came Elisabeth's voice from the other side of the ornate screen.

Not answering, Maliha walked around the edge of the screen and leaned to pour the water into the bath. The woman in it had her eyes closed.

"Ah, thank you, Albrecht. You read my mind. Can you wash my hair now while we wait for the wine?"

Maliha came around behind her head and picked up the bottle with the oils used to wash hair. She poured some into her palm and reached for the dark head. All the while, she gazed at what she could see of Elisabeth's naked body. There was a sheet covering her from about the waist down, but the woman's small breasts she could see. They were slippery with oiled water and the nipples were taut and hard. She had to repress a sigh so as not to give herself away. She wanted to enjoy this as long as she could. She was afraid that when Elias learned who was with her, he, no, she would be angry and order her out of the chamber.

Elisabeth was drowsy enough to dismiss the impression that Albrecht's fingers were shorter and gentler on her scalp. She luxuriated in his touch. Just now she needed to feel petted and stroked. Her body still felt the fire that had rocketed up into her when the woman had leaned unexpectedly into her and kissed her so deeply she felt it in her soul. And other places. She thought that this was probably when her bloods leaked out of the rags she used. Her womanhood filled with her own juices and there was just too much for the rags to soak up.

"Mmm," she sighed. "I really needed this. I do love her so. I wish Maliha was the one washing my hair."

The honey-eyed woman started. "Dear God," she thought. "She meant what she said, she loves me?" She reached for the ewer, filled it with water from the tub, and rinsed out Elisabeth's hair. She set the ewer on the floor and, kneeling, reached out both arms and put them around the German woman's neck and put her hands on her wet breasts. She began to stroke and knead.

Elisabeth jerked her eyes open. "What are you doing?" She looked at the arms and hands. They were most definitely not Albrecht's. "Who is it?" She struggled to sit up.

"It is I, my beloved, Maliha." The voice was husky and right next to her ear.

She froze for just a heartbeat, but then managed to pull herself up and twist her torso to look behind her. Her eyes were wide, her full lips parted, and the effect was somewhere between humorous and poignant. "Maliha," she breathed.

Maliha leaned forward and took her face in her hands. She put her lips to Elisabeth's. The mouth under her lips opened, and she slipped in her tongue, only to be met and matched by her beloved's own.

Elisabeth turned all the way to kneel in the bathtub. Her arms went around Maliha. She cupped the back of the woman's head with one hand, and stroked down her back to her waist with the other. Maliha put her own arms around the wet, naked woman and held her tight. She felt the hand stroking her back come around and stop just shy of cupping a breast. She sighed, encouraging the hand to do as it sought. Elisabeth's palm touched the generous roundness and felt the stiff nipple pressing into it through her clothes. She pulled out of the kiss and nuzzled Maliha's throat, while the darker woman sighed.

All of a sudden, Maliha felt herself clasped tight in the naked woman's arms. They were strong and pulled her forward. She was lifted off her knees and powerfully pulled sideways and over the tub's rim. With a splash she found herself in the water resting on her side on the naked woman's body. She laughed and squealed and every delighted sound echoed in the pilgrim knight's voice.

In Elisabeth's chamber she lay on her bed, a naked Maliha lying in her arms. She traced the outline of each nipple with her finger, making the luscious body quiver. She looked at Maliha, devouring the ample breasts with their large dark areolae, the rounded belly that was as soft as velvet. The dark tangle of hair in her groin was beaded with moisture that came in part from Elisabeth's own mouth. Maliha had brought her to climax in the tub. "I do love you, my lioness," she sighed.

Maliha nestled into her long lanky body. She put a hand to a muscular shoulder and kneaded it. "I love you, Elias. Is that really your name?"

Elisabeth chuckled. "No, it's Elisabeth. But you should keep calling me Elias. It's safer."

"You must hide your sex?" Maliha asked, putting her mouth on one of Elisabeth's breasts.

Elisabeth's voice was unsteady as she replied, "Not from you, and I shall never believe how wonderful that is. But I do, yes, from others. They must not know I am a woman." She wriggled with the sensation of fire that leapt from her nipple straight into her nether lips.

Maliha did not push for more explanation. Instead she let her hand stray across her beloved's flat belly and slipped two fingers into the cleft at its base. She began to stroke the hard nib between the inner petals. Elisabeth writhed and made a deep moan. She surrendered herself to the woman who stroked her to climax, all the while nipping and kissing whatever of the woman she could reach.

When they basked in the warmth of their lovemaking she thought suddenly of the child. "But what of your son?"

Maliha had been drifting into slumber but woke now at the mention of her child. "He is here. He will live with me here."

Elisabeth lifted her head so she could look into the honey-colored eyes that were mellower now. "He will live with you? But I had not had a chance to ask it!"

The woman in her arms shrugged. "Just after you left, the manservant here came to where I live and asked me to bring my child and come back here. He said you wanted me."

Smiling broadly, Elisabeth said, "Oh I do, I do. Over and over and over." She pressed her mouth on Maliha's again.

"What is his name?" she asked when she came up for air.

"Tacetin. He is just three years old."

Elisabeth's face grew more somber. "And his father?" There was a tinge of fear in her voice.

Maliha sighed. She touched her lover's cheek, brushing the shorn locks from her temple. "His name is Yakup. Or was. I really don't know. He went to join Kilij Arslan's fighters just before Tacetin was born. That was his mother you saw, screaming at me. It is her house."

In the dimming light of long-burned candles, Elisabeth looked into Maliha's eyes. "I see. So she saw you kissing me and to her you were betraying her son."

Maliha nodded. "She will not admit that he may be dead."

"Was she not aware of the expectations of you in this house?"

"She condemned me for that as well, but she did not condemn the coins I was able to take her for our lodging and her care of Tacetin. But seeing me in the arms of a Frankish knight and clearly loving it was too much. If the man the master sent had not come just then, she may have called for me to be stoned."

"My God, how close that came." She clasped the woman to her tightly. Then hesitantly she went on. "Did . . . do you love him? Yakup, I mean?"

Maliha took Elisabeth's face in her hands and looked stormily into her brown eyes. "I love you. I have never loved anyone until I met you. You are my beloved."

Elisabeth gazed back. "Marry me," she said almost desperately.

Maliha smiled ruefully. "I do not see how we two can do that."

"There must be a way. I love you and don't want to have anyone else but you in my life and me in yours."

Maliha was thoughtful. "You could buy me. I am not a slave, but I could become one."

The shorn head drew up abruptly. "No, I don't want you to be my slave or anyone else's. We will find a way to be together." Suddenly her face paled. "God help us," she moaned.

Maliha pulled herself up on her elbows. "What is it, my love? What is wrong?"

Elisabeth's face was pained where it had been tender before. "I have to leave in a couple weeks. The pilgrims are leaving by the end of this month for the Holy Land. I have to go with them. I have no choice. I am pledged."

Searching her lover's face, Maliha frowned. She drew the precious head to her breast. "Then you will leave, I will stay here in this house, the master said I may, and then you will come back to me." Her voice broke. "Please tell me you will come back to me."

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.

Chapter Eleven ~ Ancyra

Count Raymond of Toulouse dispatched a number of knights to patrol the city in order to prevent looting. "This is the Emperor's fortress now," he urged. "It must stay as it is. He will not thank us for a sacked city."

Elisabeth and Albrecht were among those on policing duty. It was no easy task. The Lombards in particular would not heed the instructions. Throughout the city small bands could be seen taking goods of more portability than worth from shops, homes and even churches, or what had been churches before the Turks came. She found two men who were harassing a woman and her nubile daughter. Around the corner were several Lombard children lying in wait for an old Jew who tried to make his way unmolested through the quarter. Albrecht pointed to a trio of Austrian soldiers who toted a chest down the street as a frail old man chased after, pleading.

She tried to reason with them at first, but soon realized that only force would make an impact. She set her men-at-arms on the groups of looters and had them hauled away to meet harsh judgment. As she found she did not have the personnel to keep the pace up, she began to deal out the mortal justice herself. Finding a small troop of Frankish men-at-arms dragging hysterical women out of a gated house, some of them already being raped, she commanded her men to rush in and kill the men. She herself rode in, letting Gauner trample one, leaning to slice down on others.

In an encounter with Lombard peasants running out of a small mosque with its meager treasures, she picked out their leader and personally swung her sword to slice off his head. It became easier and easier the more resistance she got and the angrier it made her. After hardly being blooded in the battle against the Turks, she found her sword, horse, and self splattered with and covered with blood from her own countrymen, from other pilgrims.

Returning to the command where it was entrenched in a stone building, she discovered virtually all the others who were sent to quell the looting repeated her acts. A few more hardened and seasoned knights had taken no prisoners but simply hacked away at any trespassers on the people and goods of Ancyra. Her one unique act it seemed was when she had her men pull soldiers off a holy man they were beating to death.

Elisabeth kept to herself an encounter with two of Ranulf's mercenaries who were carrying hangings and other items from a house. They stopped when they saw her, noted the blood on her sword, and set the things down and bowed. Ragnar's quick grin assured her that he would not put her to the test. Not this time. Thomas stood and stared at her. She leveled a glare at both and gestured with her drawn and bloody sword. Ragnar gave her a quick and sardonic bow and he and Thomas left the goods where they lay and ran off.

Any hope she had of getting clean was dashed quickly. While Raymond and Stephen of Blois parlayed with the commander of the Emperor's own troops for the garrisoning of the what was again a Byzantine fortress, she and other knights found places in the courtyard and some in houses to bed down. No one seemed to have thought of how they would feed the pilgrims, and the more resourceful either co-opted cook shops and kitchens or simply moved in with residents and demanded to be fed. By the time she and the others who had policed the looting realized that the latter was happening, they were too tired and demoralized to lift a finger. She and Albrecht bedded down in the porch of the mosque she had protected, pieced together a brazier and cooked pigeons he had caught, plucked and cleaned.

"Ragnar told me what you did." Ranulf stood at her shoulder as she picked the meat out of her teeth with a snapped pigeon bone.

"You mean got in the way of their rampage?" she snapped ill naturedly.

Ranulf shook his head. "No, spared their lives. I thank you. If they know what is good for them they will do so as well." He looked about at the ruinous square. "I don't know what got into Thomas. He's not like that. Ragnar is a Viking at heart and is almost impossible to control."

She put her elbows on her bent knees. "I would invite you to have some food, but we ate it all."

"No matter," he said. "I got some grub earlier. And honestly," he added, holding up his hands, palms toward her, to ward off any impression to the contrary. "May I at least sit down for a while?"

She made no reply but slid over to make room for him. Albrecht sat on a lower step and watched them both. She reached for a water skin and offered it to the mercenary. "Only water. Sorry," she shrugged.

Sitting, Ranulf replied, "Better than the dust that's in my mouth and throat now." He took a swig, then glanced around at the mosque. "This looks like it was a church once. Any idea who it was dedicated to?"

Albrecht replied, "No. The place where it might have been carved was smashed with what must have been a hammer."

Elisabeth inserted, "What day is it? We could dedicate the church to whatever saint's day this is. Is it St. John's Day, midsummer?"

The mercenary thought for a few moments, his chin in his palm. "I think it is the twenty-third of June. That would make it St. Etheldreda's Day. The Franks say St. Audrey."

"How the hell did you know that?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Were you a priest at some point?"

He grinned back at her and winked. "Something like that. Let me think. What was she patron saint of?" He scratched his chin. "Oh, that's right. Appropriate enough. The throat." He lifted the wineskin and held it aloft. "Blessed be thee, St. Etheldreda, for quenching my thirst, both bodily and spiritually."

"Amen!" chorused the pilgrim knight and her squire.

After some companionable silence, Ranulf spoke. "Have you heard anything about what comes next?" His question was directed at Elisabeth, who sat with her forehead pressed onto her bent knees. He had noticed she was covered in blood.

She looked up and yawned. "I should go find Conrad and see what he says. I suppose we will continue north. Hope the next fortress falls as easily as this did."

He indicated her blood-soaked tabard. "That from the battle or the looters?"

"The looters. I didn't see all that much action in the battle. You?"

Ranulf shook his head. "It all happened so fast. My unit did not even move from our emplacement before we heard the shouts that the Turks surrendered the city." He looked at her from the side of his eye. "Aren't you looking forward to your first all-out battle?"

She laughed harshly. "I suppose at least then I will feel more like a pilgrim knight. But I have a good imagination. I don't think war is glorious. It isn't clean. It isn't merry."

"You don't know the half of it. There are two things about battle you never hear anyone describe. It's loud and it stinks. Even if you come away unwounded, your ears ring for days and you can't get the smell of blood, guts and shit out of your nostrils." He grimaced. "It's like a charnel house, only it's men, not cattle you are smelling." He stood slowly, stretching his back with the crackle of joints and a moan. "I should go see if my men are staying out of trouble." He saluted Elisabeth, winked at Albrecht and strode stiffly away.

Wrapped in her cloak on the hard stone of the mosque's porch, "St. Etheldreda's" she reminded herself to call it, Elisabeth discovered that she really could be tired enough to sleep on a cold, unyielding bed. Her thoughts went immediately to Maliha, but they were cut off in the middle of a memory of a kiss when she dropped off.

She awoke sore and stiff, and as she struggled to stand up, Albrecht brought her bread and wine. She swung her arms and pulled her knees up one after another to stretch them as she went into the alley they used to relieve themselves. She came back only slightly more limber. "The twenty-fourth of June, eh?"

Albrecht smiled. "Don't ask me whose saint day it is. I never paid any attention to that. Except for my own saint day."

"When is that?" she asked around a mouthful of bread she dipped in the wine.

He looked blank. "You know, I don't remember. Sometime when it is very cold."

"Elias and I had the same birthday, of course. The twentieth of July."

He looked interested. "So which did you get, St. Elias or St Elizabeth?"

She took a swallow of the wine, complete with dregs, and smiled. "Elias."

He laughed. "It was meant to be," he said in a mock portentous voice. "What was he patron saint of?"

"Twins," she said with no hesitation.

"Really?" he exclaimed. He knew by her snort she was jesting.

Elisabeth went in search of the Constable of the Holy Roman Empire after a quick visit to a fountain to try to wash off some of the blood. It came off the mail, but she knew water on mail was a bad idea. She hoped Albrecht had some oil for it. The blood was too well set into the cloth underneath to make much headway.

She found Conrad talking to several German knights and joined them when the Constable nodded in her direction. It seemed that someone had just asked him where the pilgrims would go next. "North, to Gangra."

"Is it a fortress? As heavily garrisoned as this one?" a knight asked and was applauded with laughter.

Conrad did not laugh, nor did he even smile. "Don't know. We have scouts out to see what they can find out. And foraging parties."

"Good. I think I could eat a camel." The laughter rewarded the man who said this as well. Nervous laughter.

"You may be lucky to get camel," the old commander said acerbically. "We will see when the forage parties get back. We will probably get through the rest of our own stores and all of the city's in a couple days."

As it came to pass, turning Ancyra over to the Emperor meant that his representatives would deny supplies to the pilgrims. If they had taken and kept it, they could have stripped the city of anything they needed or wanted, not only food and water but also weapons, horses, women, not to mention booty of a shinier kind. Instead Raymond stood with his arms limp at his sides, flabbergasted at Tsitsis’s support of the council now in charge of the city for Alexios.

"How do you expect us to go on without enough supplies?"

The Pecheneg commander studied him impassively. "You were not meant to take this city. You were meant to take Dorylaeum and Konya. There you could take what you wanted."

Stephen of Blois, red as blood in the face, shouted, "How are those cities any different from this one? They are in Seljuk hands."

"They would be in Byzantine hands had you not detoured from the path you promised the Emperor you would follow." Tzitas spun about and stalked away.

His one eye blazing, Saint Gilles scowled at the Archdeacon, who stood to one side listening to the discussion. "Are you happy now? We did as your people insisted, and now we are neck deep in shit."

Archdeacon Ludovico, the cleric who represented the Archbishop of Milan, who had not come with the pilgrims due to his illness, pursed his lips. "You ought to know what fighting in Paynim lands is like. It's not a holiday. It's war. Holy war."

Stephen eyed Raymond as he stomped to the cleric. "Is it Holy War we are here for or to save the arrogant arse of that bastard Bohemond?" he demanded, shaking his fist in the Archdeacon's face.

"It is not God's will that his knights should battle each other but the heathens."

Stephen took an impulsive step toward the Frankish knight, fearing he would strike the Archdeacon. The man seemed to have himself under control in a heartbeat.

Instead he snapped, "Are these the heathens we were sent here to eradicate from the Holy Land?"

Archdeacon Ludovico looked up and away as if dealing with a vexatious child. "What matter, if they are heathens. The Emperor . . . " he went on.

"The Emperor commanded us to go south."

"Almighty God requires that we go to the aid of our brother Bohemond." Ludovico pressed his thin lips tightly together to punctuate the point. He was going to argue no more.

"Oh for Christ's pitiful sake," Raymond muttered, then turned and left the chamber, Stephen close on his heels. Elisabeth, who had heard the exchange from the doorway through which they passed, was able to hear their continued exchange.

Stephen put a hand on Raymond's shoulder, flinching when Raymond threw it off. "North, then," the shorter man said. "How?"

The hero of the First Crusade glared at him. "We shall have to learn where the main road is."

Stephen's self-satisfied grin presaged his news. "I have a guide for us, Raymond."

Raymond stared down at him. "You do. Where did you find him?"

"He came to me and a couple of the others. He says he knows the path to take to regain the road to Gangra."

"And you believe him?"

Stephen was not happy with his leader's response. The least the man could do was trust him to know when he had good advice. "What can he do, one small man against our thousands?"

The Count of Toulouse opened and shut his fists at his sides. He frowned, considering. "All right," he finally said. "Let's see what the latest report is from the scouts. Then we'll decide."

Stephen smiled victoriously. "But of course. I have other news. . . . "

Raymond sighed. Talking to Stephen was like milking a goose. "And what is that, pray tell, Stephen?" He smiled unctuously.

"I know where we can get a little more in the way of supplies."

Raymond started to ask where and how it would be obtained, but decided the less he knew, the happier he would be. He bowed his head, his lower lip pressed out in thought. "Get it. And once we have the reports we'll make our final plans. If possible, we leave at dawn of the day after tomorrow."

Albrecht rolled his and Elisabeth's suits of chain mail in a shallow trough of sand mixed with oil. He looked up from where he worked when he heard Alain's greeting. "Where is Elias?"

The squire got to his feet and made a short bow. "My Lord Alain, he is with the Constable dealing with some issues with the horses."

Alain was annoyed. He was not in armor, and Albrecht noted a rent in his tunic and part of one of his shoes was torn at a seam and curled and flapped when he moved. "My lord, what happened?"

Alain glanced down at his clothes and shoes and frowned. "Blois had us fetching supplies from where it was hidden in a former mosque. The mullahs and their congregation did not take kindly to our removing it." He narrowed his eyes. "I did not realize I came to the Holy Land to fetch and carry."

"Why are they even still here?" Elisabeth's voice came from several feet away. "The Muslims, I mean."

"The Byzantines seemed more tolerant than I would have expected. Something stinks around here." Alain put out his hand to clasp hers. "What news?"

She walked over to the trough and nodded her approval of the cleaning Albrecht did on their mail. "Remarkable. I thank you." She looked back over at the Frankish knight. "We are on for tomorrow at dawn. It seems Stephen of Blois has a guide who will take us on a path that goes north to the main road. Somewhere between here and another fortress called Gangra. The scouts saw Turks up north, but they were just camped. Not that many, they said. We may have some trouble, but Conrad says it's nothing we can't handle."

Albrecht pulled Elisabeth's suit of chain mail out of the oily sand and started to brush it off, knocking clumps of sand onto the dirt of the square. The metal underneath shone unevenly. "I will scrub the dull parts with fleece until they shine."

"Will it be ready for the morning?" she asked.

"Of course, my lord."

Alain put in, "I will be glad not to be cooped up in this sorry excuse for a town." He looked at Elisabeth sharply, but with a grin. "Black Beast tells me he pulled your arse out of the fire the other day."

Elisabeth laughed. "You could say that. And you would be right. I Was nearly spitted and roasted. What about you? Did you see any action?"

Alain shook his head ruefully. "When we got to the fight it was all over. You did get a couple kills, he said. But no prize."

She laughed. "No indeed. The pike man was on me before I could take anything. Too bad, too, as I hoped to sell it here in Ancyra and send the money back to Maliha."

Alain stared at her. "Why would you do that, mon ami?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

She looked back at him and realized there was nothing she could say that would make a dot of sense to him. She elbowed him. "She's got contacts in the black market. I want her to help me build my wealth."

Alain shook his head. "You are a young idiot. She'll take everything and you will never see it or her again. That son of a bitch Andronikos is probably in on it too. Slimy catamite," he spat.

She could feel Albrecht behind her starting to simmer. She punched Alain hard in the shoulder. "You're probably right. That I am an idiot, I mean. You had better go. We are supposed to be ready to head out first light."

The sunrise turned the clouds a smoky yellow as they made their way along a narrow track to the north and east. The track led to narrow gaps between higher ground, then out again into the open, only to wind between hills again. Relieved to be on the move after forced idleness, many of the pilgrims nevertheless kept glancing about. The way was just too perfect for ambush.

The military leaders, Count Albert of Biandrate and Hugh of Montebello, led the huge party at the fore. Behind them came Stephan of Blois and the two noblemen of Burgundy. These latter rode ahead of their own knights and men-at-arms. After them came the vast mob of Lombards, who were drawn in large part from the cities -- poor men, women and children. Some of them had made the journey a few years back, coming late to join Peter the Hermit. The Germans who came with Peter and the ragtag party of Lombards made as much mischief as they could to discomfit their rivals among the Frankish, utterly destroying Peter's mission. They were virtually uncontrollable, then and now. When not brawling, attacking the other forces' men-at-arms, or running after straying children and livestock, they marched along, many of them drunk, singing a mix of bawdy songs and hymns.

The Germans and others who rode with Conrad had the misfortune to follow the refuse of Lombardy slums. "I think if they don't stop singing for a few minutes, I may turn them over to the Sultan myself," Elisabeth groused. She was glad to be on horseback, for the rabble would just squat and relieve themselves where they walked. She still tried to keep Gauner's hooves out of it.

One of Saint Gilles's men came trotting toward them on his way back to the rear and his commander. Elisabeth waved him over. "What word?"

The man drew up and removed his cap to scratch his lice-ridden head. "The van is just half a league from the main road. Nothing seen yet, but there's a god-awful smell."

Someone piped, "That's just the Lombards!"

The man looked back unsmiling at Elisabeth's similarly unamused look. "It's smoke. Smells like after the crops are harvested and you burn the stubble in the field."

He saluted and doubled his horse's pace back to the rear.

When the German contingent reached the place where the land opened up to reveal the main road heading north, they had to slow and gather in behind the Lombards. The army had stopped. Conrad, standing in his stirrups, could not see what was causing the delay. "Damn it," he muttered. "Why don't they send someone back to tell us what is going on?" He urged his horse through the press, reached the edge of the procession only to be joined by Raymond. Elisabeth heard the Frankish knight mutter, "Now what are the idiots doing?" He and Conrad rode quickly forward, Raymond in the lead.

The Lombards mingled or sat or lay down where they were. Elisabeth could hear grumbling among them, along with women's shrieking laughter, a crying child who had just been pushed in horse dung by an older child, the beginning of a drunken brawl, and the ribald comments of a group of unkempt men taunting a shy girl.

"Why are they so loyal to Bohemond?" Elisabeth asked Black Beast, who rode at her side. "He's Norman. Not Lombard."

"A bunch of them fought under him after they messed things up for the Hermit. He is the Holy Land to them. And everyone knows the fight between him and Raymond is a petty, unworthy thing. Like a couple of bully boys squabbling over an alley."

One of the German men-at-arms called out that there was water in the middle of a mostly dried-up stream-bed, so the knights and the boys tending the sumpter animals headed off into the scrub to let the animals drink.

Coming back into the procession, Beast said, "We must be moving."

The Lombards, from those farther up to the stragglers just in front of the Germans, were standing up, brushing themselves off, and gathering up their possessions and family members. Near Elisabeth a fat woman was kicking a man who was lying on the ground. He finally woke, got up, and slugged her in the face.

Elisabeth started to urge Gauner forward, but to her astonishment the woman fell into step next to the man, who put one arm around her shoulders. The two walked on companionably.

When at long last Elisabeth reached the place where the path joined the main road she instantly understood what had caused the sudden halt. The smell of stubble burned on a cleared field was caused by just that. Only this time the crops were the things burned, not the stubble. Someone, the Turks, had torched every field she could see in either direction. While the pilgrims took the alternate route, the Turks took the main road and systematically destroyed any food the pilgrims could have taken.

She glanced at a body off to the side of the path. It was barely recognizable as the guide hired by Stephen. The body was mangled, its throat slit and clearly visible stab wounds inflicted by dozens of angry men. She caught the smell of urine on the bloody body, urine and worse.

"Did he lead us down the path to delay us, or did he simply tell the Sultan we would be here?" She turned to look at Ranulf as he settled his mount to fall in step with hers. "Or was he innocent, a poor man wanting silver to feed his family with?"

"God knows," the mercenary captain said.

"Which God?" she said acidly.

In places where the crops had not been burned they saw that everything edible was gone. The Turks, after all, had to eat as well as they did. Even if the Turks never attacked, the pilgrims were doomed if they could not find food. "How could this all have been so badly planned?" she wondered in silence.

With the carts and livestock, the men-at-arms and the camp followers on foot, it took days before they could even hope to see the walls of Gangra before them. Scouts continued to report that the army of Kilij Arslan, Sultan of the Seljuk, retreated before them. Every step of the way they deprived the pilgrims of supplies. All they found were burned fields, all the sparse wood available likewise destroyed. Even the few wells they came across were filled in or contained decaying carcasses, usually of dogs, poisoning the water. The river just out of sight was at its midsummer low, so silty water was available, though just barely. Rations halved, the pilgrims marched steadily north and east toward the Pathlagonian city. Everyone was hungry and parched, exhausted. Even the Lombards quieted.

Whatever she had expected, what Elisabeth experienced now was sheer hell. Though she did not wear her helm as she rode in the blazing summer sun, she did wear her mail and the thick padded shirt under it. She could not believe how hot the metal got in the sun. The quilted gambeson held in the heat. She got down from Gauner from time to time, not only to give him some relief from carrying her weight and the weight of her armor but because the horse's body heat was making it worse for her. She could feel the sweat running out of her hair and down her neck and back, where it tickled. She felt as if she wore a sponge full of hot, smelly water under her mail. She longed to strip naked and dive into a pond, but while some of the men took the chance and went to soak themselves in the river, she did not dare. She realized she must be starting to smell as bad as the Lombards and other camp followers. She tried fantasizing about splashing in a fountain with a naked Maliha, but after a short time the fantasy itself started to torture her. She genuinely wondered if she would ever be clean and cool again. She would not let that other thought, the one about whether she would ever see Maliha again, crystallize in her mind.

Elisabeth worried mostly for Gauner. The small patches of green grazing that survived the devastation were long cropped to the roots by animals further up the line. She meted out small handfuls of grain she carried for him. He ate it gratefully, then nuzzled her for more.

"Here!" came a shout from the line ahead of her one afternoon as she fed her horse. "Give me that!"

It was a peasant, a big man with filthy hair and beard and filthier clothing. He strode forward, one hand extended and the other grasping a short thick knife.

"Why should that overgrown horse get to eat when my children do not?" he demanded.

She drew her sword as he approached. "If we come under attack, you will be glad of this horse when he carries me to defend your sorry arse." Any impulse to compassion for his little ones was precluded by her knowledge that what she said was God's own truth.

"You knights," the man said as he spat on her shoes. "You have messed things up bad enough, haven't you? We'll be lucky if we get out of this alive."

Albrecht came to stand at her side, his sword likewise drawn. "It was you pigs who insisted we change course, you and your useless horde of ne'er-do-wells and vagabonds."

The man made a threatening gesture. "Are you trying to tell me we would be doing any better in Konya or further along?" He subsided rapidly, though he continued to spit both saliva and epithets as he turned and slumped away.

Seeing Elisabeth's taut expression, her squire reassured, "We'll take Gangra. Then we will have all the food and water we need for our horses, ourselves and even the garbage like him."

She made the sign of the cross. "From your lips to God's ear."

Some cheer had made its way through the ranks as the walls of Gangra came into view. That hopeful spirit melted away as they neared. There was something solid about this fortress, almost as if it was solid stone across. The battlements were crowded with jeering men shaking their fists at the pilgrims, some turning and exposing their arses in defiance.

The pilgrim leaders commanded the procession to camp for the night some distance from the walls. Scouts sent on ahead found a small clump of trees indicating the presence of water. It turned out to be a well with a terrible taste, but it was all they had. They took what they could, boiled some of it in pots over green wood that smoked and spat. Most slept in spite of the heat and stinging flies, while others stood watch, swaying with weariness and downcast hearts.

In the spacious command tent, where Elisabeth attended on Conrad, wine flowed readily enough. Servants darted here and there with small plates of food kept for the commanders' table. A scout stood, holding his helm in both arms, and slowly imparted his intelligence.

"The town is fully garrisoned. More than that, it is shut tight. It has thicker walls even than usual, and it seems to have been supplied with everything they could need. Food, water, fodder, weapons, you name it."

Stephen of Burgundy interrogated, "Where does this information come from, man?"

"Peasants. Clerics. Deserters. Some of it from our own scouts," he hurried to add, seeing that Stephen was about to cast doubt on what could be trusted from Muslims. "We had parties watching the fortress over the past few days. They saw the arms and men stream in. The carts of provender as well."

Hugh of Montebello chimed in. "Any estimate of the size of the garrison?"

The scout glanced at Raymond. "We cannot be sure. Fifteen hundred, two thousand perhaps?" The commander nodded his agreement.

All heads turned to him. He slowly rose and, tucking his thumbs in his sword belt, gave them a frank one-eyed stare. "It's too well fortified. Too strong. We are a larger force, but they have food, plenty of it to last. We are on our last rations."

He caught Archdeacon Ludovico's move to rise out of the corner of his eye. "Look, without some sort of miracle . . . ," he began to state ominously.

His face shot to the scout, who was clearing his throat meaningfully. "What is it?"

Scuffing his feet on the carpet laid on the dirt under the tent, the man reluctantly responded, "There is more, my lord. One of the deserters says that reinforcements are on their way."

"And shall we believe the words of a heathen dog?" the Archbishop's man accused.

Raymond waved the Archdeacon to silence. "What did he say exactly?" He turned, shouted to a servant, "Get this man a stool and some wine."

They waited while the man took the wine, sat on the stool before them, and drank deeply. "Thank you, my lord." He drank again, then went on, "It seems that up until recently the Sultan, Kilij Arslan, managed to outrage all the other warlords with his presumption of command. He used the threat of Christian pilgrim knights to try to browbeat them into bowing to him. They scoffed, then removed themselves and their support."

"We know that. So?" Odo of Burgundy interrupted, earning a flash of anger from both Raymond and Conrad.

"Our arrival and taking of Ancyra changed all that. The Danishmend leader is alarmed now and is coming to meet us under Arslan's banner."

Count Albert, Anselm's military commander, turned to the Archdeacon. "Danishmend?" he inquired, one eyebrow lifted.

"Malik Ghazi," Raymond supplied. "Go on," he urged the scout.

"Yes, Malik Ghazi. And he sent to Ridwan of Aleppo to furnish reinforcements up from the south." The man drooped, his bad tidings exhausted.

Odo asked Conrad, "How many troops could they be bringing?"

The Constable sighed. "God knows."

All were silent save for a muted "Shit!" that issued from the lips of Raymond de Saint Gilles.

Chapter Twelve ~ No Turning Back

The word came down. They were to bypass Gangra. Conrad had all he could do to silence the protesting voices.

"But what about supplies?" came one angry demand.

Conrad held up his hands for silence. "Would you rather starve while you sit here in siege or at least have a chance of finding supplies on the road north?"

A knight accused, "Have you and the other leaders left your balls back in Constantinople? We can take that city!"

The Constable's face reddened. "We are going on. That is all there is to it."

The disappointment of the leaders' decision turned to anger. It could go either way, toward rebellion against those leaders or retribution against the environs of the city. The leaders, with the help of their heavily armed elite knights, skillfully turned the focus of that fury on the farms and dwellings outside the walls.

The scene was one of utter devastation. The knights were carefully instructed to make for whatever supplies were above ground or in storage. The Lombards and many of the men-at-arms of all nations were left to smash and grab, rape and kill. The fact that there was little to smash and few to rape and kill made their ravishment the more brutal. No structures, no trees or shrubs were left and not a soul survived their rapacity.

The Turks on the battlements shouted in outrage, but no one emerged to fight them. It seemed they had as little regard for their people as the Christian pilgrims did. All the while the small army of priests stood in the shadow of the fortress, out of range of arrows, and intoned their incessant prayers.

The tiny amount of supplies gathered and packed onto sumpter horses, the pilgrim procession streamed desultorily north, followed by shrill shouted insults and derisive laughter from the battlements of the fortress of Gangra. The pilgrims themselves were largely silent, save for muttered recriminations and irritable complaints from every contingent.

"Where are we going now?" someone whined.

A deeper voice replied, "Kastamonu. It's in the mountains to the north, just this side of the Black Sea."

The van with Stephen of Burgundy in the lead was no longer in sight of the fortress of Gangra when Saint Gilles's trailing force was just barely in sight of it. Downhearted at having to bypass what might have been a treasure trove of supplies, not to mention booty and women, the knights and men-at-arms trudged after their leader, leaving the fortress behind. When a great shout came from the direction of the gates, the last of the soldiers looked over their shoulders to see them open, and dozens of mounted men streaming forth.

While the ordinary soldiers panicked, the Pecheneg with Raymond's forces in their disciplined ranks turned to face the attackers. They quickly formed the line into a tight column with men with shields facing outward. Men behind them held up their shields at a slight angle from the vertical of the outer row, creating the start of a turtle formation, named for the protective shell of that beast.

Meanwhile the knights under Raymond, who screamed his orders to his own commanders, forced their men to gather in the middle, holding shields aloft. It seemed this seasoned hero of the capture of Antioch and the Pecheneg leader Tzitas knew what to expect. From the vantage of their horses' backs the knights watched this play out. The Turks who streamed from the fortress split as they neared the column, breaking into two offensive lines of mounted archers, who rode along and fired arrow after arrow at the crusader forces. The sound of the arrows thudding into shields was a staccato accompanying the eerie ululations of the Turks. The drumming was punctuated with an occasional clang as an arrow struck a helm. Few hit flesh.

A messenger tore north along the column to warn the other commanders, keeping just ahead of the pursuing Turks. While the rear drew to a near halt with the slowly-moving and aptly-named turtle, the forces ahead also slowed and turned their heads to see what was happening. Conrad's company, riding before the rear forces and just behind the mass of Lombard rabble, followed their commander's quick directions and formed the forward extension of the shield wall that enclosed the noncombatants as well. At the center lumbered the carts and sumpter animals, adding the bellows of oxen and nasal call of mules to the pandemonium.

Elisabeth found herself painstakingly threading the center of the narrowing procession that connected the rear forces with the last of the peasants. Albrecht, at her command, rode forward with the mercenary captain Ranulf to protect the men, women and children who shrieked and wept at the assault they could hear but not see all around them. Elisabeth glimpsed the other three mercenaries take position together, Ruggiero on the outermost wall with his shield held defensively in front of him, Ragnar with his Norseman's helm just behind, and Thomas with them, crossbow raised to take shots from time to time over their shoulders at the swiftly passing Turks.

It was all Albrecht and Ranulf could do to keep the mass of Lombard peasants from trampling each other. The two men used their horses' bodies and weapons to keep them in a line, slowing them to a crawl. They could not hear their own captains' orders for the screaming of the people, old and young, as the unseen terror seemed to last for hours.

In the van Stephen of Burgundy and the Lombard knights and soldiers heard what passed and scrambled to form their own defensive formation. The entire half-mile-long procession compacted into a snake that slithered almost to a stop.

Then the assault stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The mounted Turks, without a single casualty, turned and rode back in the direction of the fortress. The men in the shield wall watched warily as the last of the attackers disappeared to the south.

"Keep in position!" commanders bellowed as some of the rear guard began to relax. "They may come back!"

They did not. The fading sounds of ululation and hoof beats left the column to the lamentations of the camp followers. Clerics chanted prayers were no less frantic. None was injured by anything but the crush around them. As the threat of the Turks' return appeared to be over, commanders among the men-at-arms assessed the damage.

Albrecht dismounted from Carlchen and led him among the Lombard pilgrims doing what he could to reassure and comfort. One mother clutched a trembling child to her breast. Albrecht leaned in to offer them his water skin. The child, a dirty-faced little girl, lifted her head from her mother's shoulder just enough to peek out, saw the squire and shrieked as if a demon had her in its clutches. "She is terrified," her mother explained as the child shoved her tear-streaked face hard into her mother's body.

"With good reason," Albrecht replied in the camp pidgin that had already developed among the several languages represented by the thousands of pilgrims. He hesitated, and then removing his heavy leather gauntlet, reached a tentative hand to stroke her hair. "What is her name?"

"Maria," her mother said.

The squire leaned to the little girl's ear and as crooned, "Little Maria, the bad men are gone. You are safe. I am here to protect you."

A convulsive shudder shook the little body. She would not look up.

He acted on inspiration. "Have you ever seen a duck standing on his head?" he said into her ear. Though the child did not respond, he gestured to the woman to follow him. At Carlchen's side he reached for his shield where it hung at the saddle. "Here it is, quack quack quack! Oh no," he piped in a falsetto. "I can't fly upside down!"

The little face emerged like the first sliver of a new moon. One dark eye peered at Albrecht's shield with its upside-down duck painted on the leather facing.

"Maria, help!" the squire continued in his piping voice. "Help me figure out how to get upright again!" The camp pidgin was inadequate for what he had to say, but the child's dark moving iris showed she was interested. One thin arm came away from where its fist clutched her mother's head-covering. It slowly came out and described a circle with a tiny finger.

Albrecht made the shield dip slightly back and forth. In the high pitched voice he had used, he said, "Oh no! I don't understand. What should I do? Quack quack!"

A tiny voice said, "Turn around."

"Like this?" Albrecht turned the shield so that the picture of the duck faced away from the three of them.

Shaking her head, the child said more loudly, "No, like this!" She now traced a definite circle in the air.

Albrecht left the shield facing the wrong way but turned it a half turn. "Like this? Quack quack."

He was rewarded with a giggle. "No, this way!" The child's head no longer was buried in her mother's shoulder and the dark eyes though still red with weeping almost sparkled.

"Like this? Quack quack!" When the squire turned the shield around this time the duck, though not the shield, was right way up.

"Yes!" the childish voice crowed.

"Thank you, Maria, quack quack!"

"Thank you, my lord," the woman said, smiling wanly. "You are most kind."

Albrecht tousled the girl's dusty dark hair and smiled. "The attack is over. Now we will find our way to Kastamonu, and there we can rest."

He found Elisabeth looking about for him from her perch atop Gauner. "Thank God," she rejoiced. "There don't seem to be any serious injuries, but until I saw you I was terrified."

He nodded to her. "What hurts are there, my lord?"

She shook her head. "None of our party," she sighed.

The column was at a standstill even after the Turks rode away. Their companions saw to those who had taken injury. The commanders grouped among the Constable's forces halfway down the line, to discuss what had happened and the likelihood the attacks would recommence. Elisabeth moved as close as she dared to listen.

"Surely they will not follow us as we get further from the fortress?" Stephen of Blois averred.

Raymond responded, his voice betraying his ever-increasing frustration with his commanders. "Probably, but I cannot imagine we will be left alone even after this."

Conrad broke in, cementing Raymond's building gratitude for the man's good sense. "My Lord of Toulouse is right. There may be others about. We must stay on guard for more attacks. We must be able to get into the turtle formation swiftly."

Odo of Burgundy protested. "It is a long way to Kastamonu, is it not? Where are these attacks going to come from? I say we make our way straight through to Kastamonu. The faster the better."

Hugh of Montebello echoed his comments, adding, "Walking along in a turtle will slow us down. I don't think we have provisions enough if it takes twice as long to get to a new source."

Raymond lifted both his clenched fists in front of his chest. "We don't stay in turtle the whole time, you great ass!" He turned to face away from the group of commanders, his face red and his one sound eye fiery.

Hugh looked at the general's back, affronted. "My lord, is it necessary to . . . ?"

Conrad explained. "We can walk at our usual pace, my lords. Just stay near our turtle positions so there is no delay in getting into defensive lines."

"I still say it is unnecessary," whined Stephen of Blois.

Raymond spun back to face him. "You would, you little weasel. But those of us who stood and fought at Antioch instead of buggering off know better."

Stephen's hand flew to his sword's hilt. "Why, you arrogant son of a bitch!"

Raymond put his hand to his own sword in its scabbard. "Go ahead, if you are man enough to fight me."

Before he could pull his sword more than an inch, Stephen of Burgundy stepped between the two men. "Stay. We do not need to fight each other. We are here to fight the heathens."

Conrad sighed as Raymond rolled his eyes. "Let us err on the side of caution."

Count Stephen nodded. "That is wise. How shall we proceed?"

Raymond subsided. He looked at the Constable. "We can camp here for a short time, but we need to move on before we settle for the night. Conrad will work out what we need to do. Can you be ready to go on in two hours?" he asked, looking up squinting at the position of the sun. "It is going to get hotter in no time."

It was indeed hotter even than it had been in the morning when just after midday the procession moved north. Elisabeth helped Conrad convey instructions to the German and Austrian parties' captains on the order of march. It was no more complicated than walking loosely in the position each man would hold in the turtle should one be invoked.

"I would like to ride up with the Lombard pilgrims, if it please my lord," Albrecht told her.

"Very well," she replied.

As they continued north, free of any further attacks, Elisabeth sweltered in her armor. She wondered not for the first time why the commanders had chosen to ride into the longer, hotter days of July. They must know something, she assumed. The passes must be blocked in the winter. This made her think of the Alpine passes and how she had fretted at the cold. Oh, to be cold again.

"Could we not travel at night?" she asked Ranulf when he brought his own mount alongside hers.

"Harder to be vigilant," he answered succinctly.

"Do you think we are free of any further attacks?"

The mercenary captain gave her a sardonic look. "No, I do not," he said emphatically.

She looked after him dismayed as he spurred ahead.

One thing about riding in this searing heat, she soon discovered, was that her need to relieve herself privately, much more difficult in this press of human and animal bodies, was less of a problem. She sweated off what she might otherwise have had to find a discreet place to relieve herself of privately.

From time to time the procession passed tiny villages. Before the middle contingents reached them the word had come back that the village was stripped of all provisions and livestock. They were able to get some water from the small dwindling wells. One of the Byzantine horsemen who rode up from the rear came over when Elisabeth beckoned to him.

"If they cleared out when they knew we were coming, why did they leave the wells for our use?" she asked him.

"They are long gone into the hills, my lord. They clear out during this time of the year, and they take their livestock and foodstuffs with them into the hills. They will need the wells when they return in the fall. They are all but dried up now anyway." At her thanks, he saluted and continued his progress forward.

The pilgrims trudging along desultorily in front of Elisabeth and her companions grumbled when the edict came down from the commanders that now that the river had angled sharply east from where they rode the water was to be reserved for the animals and only when they were refreshed could any remaining supply be distributed to the people. Elisabeth tried to explain that the animals were working, that the pilgrims needed what they carried to survive, and therefore the animals must be watered first.

One man with a running sore on his cheek shouted over the protests, "I don't see your animal carrying anything we need, my lord!" The last was said with a sneer and rewarded with laughter from those about him.

As soon as she opened her mouth to respond she was drowned out with jeers. She looked up to see Albrecht on Carlchen some way ahead. He had a disgusted look on his face when he looked back at her and shook his head wearily. She noticed he had a child on his saddle in front of him.

As evening approached and the heat barely eased, Conrad rode up alongside Elisabeth. "Elias, I need your young eyes. Look out over there." He raised his arm and pointed to one side of the procession, many yards distant. "What do you see?"

She pushed her mail coif back from her sweat-sodden quilted hood and stood in her stirrups. Putting her hand over her eyes to shade them, she peered off into the distance at the rolling hills. "I don't see . . . No, wait."

Conrad waited for her to go on.

"I see them," she said. "Riders. Just along the crest of the hills and some closer." She looked at the Constable. "Are they just following to see that we go where they want, to the sea, or are they . . . ?" she trailed off.

He shrugged his heavily padded shoulders. "I do not know." He nodded to her. "Thank you, young lord."

At long last the procession made camp for the night. It formed as a huge oblong with men-at-arms standing sentry in a ring around it. When the word came down that the journey would begin again before dawn, Elisabeth stifled the groan she heard coming from all sides. After she saw to Gauner, she found herself a spot where she could rest her back against a dry tree trunk. She dared not take off her mail, so she could not take advantage of the slight breeze that would have dried her sweat-soaked clothing and cooled her. She took sips of the water in her water skin, conserving what she knew was a precious commodity.

She looked up when Albrecht joined her by the tree, carrying a wooden bowl of some sort of meat and grain for each of them.

"What is it? The meat, I mean."

He grinned at her. "I have no idea, my lord. I didn't really want to know, so I did not ask."

In the low light she peered into the bowl. "Well, whatever it is, it's not the only meat in here." She reached in with her ungloved fingers and brought out a cooked grub. She grinned and popped it into her mouth. Pretending to chew with gusto, she said, "Delicious!"

He laughed, and they finished their stew in silence, save for the slight crunching of the undercooked grain.

"We are being followed. I saw Turks on the hills," Elisabeth said as she used her forefinger to wipe what was left of the liquid in her bowl to get every last drop.

"I know. I saw them too." He looked pensive. "I wonder what the morrow will bring."

Elisabeth made the sign of the cross over her dusty, stained cloak with its red cross. "God knows."

The teeming mass of pilgrims was up and moving north before the sun appeared in the eastern sky. Elisabeth marveled, not for the first time, how a mass as huge as the thousands of pilgrims could be mobilized at all, no less as swiftly as they were this morning. She guessed that it must be the prospect they were promised of marching in the relative cool of the day, and being allowed to camp during the hottest periods.

She took her place as usual with the German and Austrian contingent led by Constable Conrad. The smell from the unwashed bodies of the Lombard peasants was worse than yesterday, but she realized she was not any sweeter smelling after all the days of the march since Nicomedia. Worse than the smell was the noise. Two or more thousand men, women, and children created a cacophony that quickly caused Elisabeth's head to ache and her ears to ring.

The sun was hardly up when the Turkish riders appeared again on the hilltops on both the east and west. Stephen of Burgundy in the van saw them first. He peered out from under his helmet at them, wondering if they meant to keep at a distance, unnerving but not molesting the pilgrims. He had his answer in little time, as he swung his head to the west to see the source of a sudden, terrifying commotion. With alarm he screamed, "Battle formation!"

He made fast the strap under the chin of his helm, drew his sword and turned to await the arrival of what he had seen coming toward the van. His knights quickly formed a defensive line with the men-at-arms.

What he saw were hundreds of mounted Turks streaking toward the pilgrim column. He heard their shouts, the same eerie ululation as the day before, and stared to see what sort of attack they meant to make.

Incredulously he saw that every one of the perhaps hundreds of Turks, like the men who had chased them after Gangra, carried a bow, not spears, not swords, save for the swords they wore at their belts. The column he led had formed its all but impermeable wall all the way back as far as he could see when the first wave of Turks let fly their arrows no more than thirty feet away. As one hundred arrows thudded into shields, those one hundred mounted archers swerved away and another hundred replaced them. Another flight of one hundred arrows hit the air and then the column. Two more waves of horsemen swooped in in turn.

When no further wave followed the last immediately, a roar of outrage erupted from the assembled knights in the van. The Stephen watched with both dismay and understanding as many knights broke through the shield wall and tore after the jeering horsemen. Stephen wanted to go out there and return blow for blow, but he knew in his heart it would be useless. With their smaller horses, the Turks could easily outrun the knights on their huge destriers. He shook his head. All he could do was watch and chide the knights if and when they came back to the safety of the shield wall.

His aide de camp rode up on his right side. "Your Grace, I count at least five hundred Turkish horsemen total!"

Stephen gaped at the man. "That means . . . five hundred arrows in a matter of minutes!" He looked back at his charging knights. The five hundred Turkish horsemen not only did not stand to meet them, they fled in all directions in parties of at least one hundred each. "Don't chase them!" he muttered through his teeth. "Get back here!"

The huge mounts of the knights were not bred to run, and within a quarter mile they were winded, forced to slow. Nevertheless their riders did not return, but walked them more slowly forward. Stephen glanced in all the directions the fleeing Turks had taken. "Dear God," he whispered, then rode his own destrier to the edge of the column. "Retreat! Retreat!" he screamed.

He had seen another five hundred Turkish bowmen streaming toward the knights. They came at an oblique angle, and with their obscuring helms, the knights did not see them at first. When a few who did catch sight of the attackers wheeled their horses as quickly as they could, the rest realized what was happening. They too turned their horses and started back to the column. The animals were spent and could not race back as they had raced forward. The first flight of arrows took to the sky and fell among them. Stephen's bowels clenched at the first cries of wounded battle horses.

He did not see Conrad as he rode up beside him accompanied by a score of his knights. As they had ridden forward, they had watched with horror the drama unfolding near the van. The Constable waved his arms and screamed, "Retreat!" He shook his head. If the men-at-arms had followed the knights, then at least the ground they covered chasing the Turks might have been held. He knew that an entire new way of fighting was upon them.

Many of the knights who came threading back through the shield wall had arrows sticking out from their shields and even their armor. Some were bloody, and these men slumped against their horses' necks. One man, unhorsed when numerous arrows felled his mount, tore forward only to be flung full length toward the outermost wall with an arrow in his back.

Finally noticing Conrad beside him, Stephen looked over, his face pale behind the cheek pieces of his helm. He looked back to where a few horses and men lay on the ground between them and the Turkish riders. One horse stood as a Turk rode forward, grabbed its reins and drew it away with him.

"I could not stop them," Burgundy said defensively to the German commander. "They just reacted."

Conrad eyed him steadily. "Why did you not send the foot soldiers after them for support?"

The Burgundian opened his mouth as if to reply, but could not think of an answer. His shocked face shifted to resentful hostility. He wheeled his mount and went to confer with his commanders.

Conrad stared after him. "Elias, Gerhardt, go out and collect all the arrows you can. Take some of the foot soldiers. When you cannot carry any more, stamp on the rest to break them."

"Where should we take them, my lord?" Elisabeth asked.

Conrad sighed. "I don't know. Just take them to the ox carts." He muttered to himself, "Do I have to think of everything?"

There were fourteen dead knights and thirty-seven wounded among the Burgundians. Five horses were lost or taken. The fact that no Turks had sustained any wounds at all made the otherwise low numbers seem to swell in importance.

The arrows gathered or broken and the formation starting to move forward again, the unthinkable happened. The hundreds of Turks rode up again, this time from the east, and, in their sweeps at the column, loosed arrows just as they had before, first one hundred, then another, and then another, followed by two hundred more.

Stephen of Burgundy's knights remained in position this time. Conrad had turned back to his own contingent, and when Stephen looked over his scowl was aimed at Conrad's two knights.

"Where are they getting all those arrows from?" Elisabeth asked no one in particular.

Gerhardt responded, "Well those that miss will be added to our arsenal."

Few men or horses were hit. The tight column with its multiple rows of shields prevented the sort of casualties sustained in the first round of attacks. "If this happens again and again," Elisabeth thought to herself, "we wouldn't lose many men but it would slow us down to a crawl." She wondered how far they had to go and whether they had or could find provisions to last. Her old notions of what battle was like had altered extravagantly. It wasn't valor you thought about, and not even fear of wounding or death. All you thought of was where the next water and food would come from.

The sun was still a distance from its zenith when the Turks suddenly appeared once more, this time on the rear where Saint Gilles rode. Another five hundred were in that attack, and to everyone's astonishment, as many again struck along both flanks. Now not only the Pecheneg and the Byzantines in the rear were struck, but one thousand Turks harried the Germans and Austrians all the way up to the Lombard noncombatants. The heathen archers streamed along the sides and shot their arrows high into the air so that they fell down into the middle. Only those who wore stout helms and shoulder armor could hope to avoid the arrows, and even they were vulnerable if arrows struck their mounts. Though the attack lasted no more than the time the first two had taken, perhaps several minutes, there were many more casualties.

Raymond waited until the Turks were gone out of sight over the hills to the east for a midday rest. He had no real choice. The injured and the dead must be seen to.

"Find us someplace to rest," he barked at an aide.

Only a half mile ahead they found a deserted village. No people, no animals, and little water in the wells. Nevertheless there was some shade in the lee of the buildings and rough outer walls. The Lombards streamed in following the Burgundians' men-at-arms and took every space they could bully their way into. Elisabeth and her companions could not find shade for the horses, but a breeze wafting over a hill to the west that was slightly cooler than the heat of the day dried both human and equine sweat, providing some relief.

Conrad stalked about the village stopping to talk with the clumps of men resting wherever they could find space. He made his way slowly to where Elisabeth and Albrecht sat with the three knights and their squires in the shade their own horses made. He returned their nods, asking how they fared.

"That tactic," he informed them without preamble, "has not been used successfully since the Parthians."

Alain looked puzzled. "Who were they?"

Albrecht surprised his comrades by responding, "They fought Alexander the Great in Persia, is that right?"

Conrad cocked a single eyebrow in appreciation. "Very good. The tactic was abandoned after Alexander decimated the Parthian army."

"How did he do it?" Elisabeth asked.

"Well, I can tell you it wasn't by riding out in small groups and trying to chase them down." Conrad's disgust was evident. Then he appeared to reconsider the courtesy of criticizing his fellow commanders. "Alexander's foot soldiers were just too well-armored and too good."

Elisabeth observed, "Alexander was not called the Great for nothing. Not an easy example to equal."

Conrad, looking away, made a gesture of dismissal and walked away.

"What is going to happen now?" Alain asked rhetorically.

Black Beast made a rude noise in his throat. "If that keeps up the rest of today and the next day and the next . . . "

Bertolf, his squire, a barrel of a man even at his young age, shook his head. "We are not going to keep on to rescue Lord Bohemond, are we?"

No one looked at him or replied.

Chapter Thirteen ~ Only Way Out

At night the pilgrims fell into sleep almost as soon as they lay on the ground from the sheer exhaustion of the day's march. They did not awake refreshed in the dawn. The blazing heat made the pilgrims, particularly those in armor, stupid from dehydration. Young joints resisted flexing as if their owners were aged. Sleep rather than being restful just fogged the senses.

"God help us," Elisabeth thought, "if we are called on to act quickly."

Quick turned out to be the last thing anyone would have to be. Not long after the column formed and began to move toward the mountains and sea, the Turks swooped down again. The turtle formation was almost second nature now. No one complained about the slow pace, stopping for the attacks, then moving at a crawl in between, because no one had the energy to move any faster. That single day felt like a week, and then in the early morning it was all to do again. On everyone's minds was one crippling realization. The slow pace meant more days on the road, and more days on the road made it inevitable that thirst and hunger would begin to claim lives as surely as any Turkish arrows could.

There was no respite from the assaults. The only change for the pilgrims was that they were increasingly ill equipped to keep going. Water was even scarcer than before, and the grain carts were emptying. Added to the actual heat from the searing sun was the impression of heat from torched fields and groves. The acrid smoke turned already parched throats into painful cracking tissues.

People started to drop where they walked. The very old stumbled, and though helped to stand again by their family members, soon fell to the ground. Some of the men among the noncombatants tried to carry their old people, but they were little hardier than their burdens. At first they laid their dead atop the lessening stores in the ox carts, but the weight took its toll on the already suffering draft animals. A near riot of protest at the removal of corpses to be left behind on the ground was quelled by yet another sweep of Turks whose arrows felled more of the pilgrims as they were too slow to get into a protective position.

The fourth night after Gangra they made camp in the open. Elisabeth heard him and looked up as Albrecht, who had strayed from her side, lay down near her. "Where were you? What's wrong?" she added as she saw the desolation on his face.

He rasped as much from his parched throat as from a desire to be discreet. "I went to look for the Lombard woman and her child. My water skin was under my cloak. I have been sneaking water to the child against orders. A guard came out of nowhere and grabbed me. I pretended I could not understand him, but he just reached under my cloak and pulled out the water skin. He asked me who it was for. I told him it was for my horse. But he was wise to me. He pointed out that the Bavarians' horses were picketed in the opposite direction."

"What happened?" Elisabeth urged.

"They took it, the skin. Confiscated. Asked me how my horse will drink now. I started to reach for my sword, but the other guards grabbed my arms. I asked on whose authority he confiscated my water. He said it was Toulouse, not that he wants for provisions himself."

Albrecht scratched his bent head and made a derisive noise in his throat. "He told me I wasn't going to take water to my 'bit of tail.' As if I had the energy to fuck. He said that well will be as dry as the rest in no time with nothing to pay her."

Elisabeth had wondered if Albrecht's Lombard woman had assumed from the first that he wanted something in return for the water for her child, and the only thing she had was her body. When the squire never made his advances, she would no doubt have been puzzled.

"I couldn't keep looking for them, nothing to give the child. I knew the woman would be waiting for me, but I just turned and came back here."

The next day the children started to die. Furious recriminations accompanied the soldiers' insistence that the bodies, not only the old people and the wounded who could not walk but now the little ones, be left on the side of the road at the mercy of whatever the Turks would do to them. Dozens became scores lining the path churned up by thousands of feet shuffling between stops to form the turtle.

When the column stopped for its midday rest in a burned out grove of trees Albrecht, tortured by his failure to find and explain to the Lombard woman, dashed away to find her and learn how she and the child fared. Elisabeth followed. He searched in vain. He finally found some of the people she traveled with. They would not meet his eyes.

"Where is Maria? Where is her mother?" he demanded in camp pidgin.

One older woman bowed her head and croaked, "Gone, my lord. Both of them."

"Gone? What are you talking about? Not dead?" he said with mounting fear.

She shook her head. "You stopped bringing them water. She despaired."

A young boy stepped forward. "When the Turks attacked last, she went out to them. She broke through the turtle and walked straight out toward the archers."

Albrecht's eyes frantically searched the country back the way they had come. "Why?"

The older woman put in, "Her child was dying. She wanted to get her water and food."

"She gave herself to a heathen. He rode to her and leaned down and gathered her and the child up onto his horse." The boy hesitated.

Catching the hesitation, Albrecht looked from the boy to the woman. "What happened?" he asked with dread.

Tears started to course down the woman's cheeks. "The archer . . . he tore the child from her arms and flung it on the ground. I heard her scream. We wanted to go save the little mite, but the archers swooped down again."

"I saw a horseman ride over the child." The young boy's voice caught on the words.

Albrecht stood before them unable to move or speak. He slowly sank to his knees and lifted his hands to cover his face. A sound like a tortured animal came from him as he shook all over. The boy and woman exchanged looks and backed away.

Elisabeth knelt by him and put her hands on his shoulders while they shook.

Conrad rode to where his knights stood about a campfire, miserably contemplating the lack of any sort of food but hard bread full of weevils. He dismounted as they stood to salute, waving them to sit again. He sighed as he saw all eyes turned on him, waiting for the inevitable.

"Lads, this has become intolerable. Something has to give. The commanders are meeting tonight to make a decision. The Count of Toulouse is going to recommend that we break through as directly as we can to the sea. There is a road along the shore back to Constantinople, and some may find ship's passage."

"Back to Constantinople?" one man questioned. "In disgrace? What then?"

"I know what I will do when we get back to Constantinople. That bastard, Alexios, will hear about . . . ," a voice from among the knights vowed.

Conrad broke in, "Nay, it is too tempting to try to assign blame. We should not turn on the Basileus. He is a Christian. We should leave all recriminations for . . . "

"The Lombard rabble! And that fat Archdeacon leading them!" another voice shouted.

Conrad shook his head. "The Turks. They and they alone have brought us to this."

Elisabeth, her chainmailed arms resting on chainmailed leg coverings, looked to her left when she heard Ranulf's derisive snort.

He saw her look and explained, "I would be hard-pressed to find a soul here not fit to blame. This has been a sorry mess from the start."

She kept her eyes level on him, wanting to argue but unable to form a case in her mind. She looked back at Conrad. He was still standing before them, in heated debate with several knights.

She turned back to the mercenary. "How is Ruggiero?"

The big Italian was a casualty of the most recent attack by Turkish archers. An arrow had made it through the shield wall when a man next to him had stumbled. The wound was in his thigh, the arrow removed cleanly, but he grew ever weaker no matter what was done for him.

Ranulf grimaced and shook his head. "The arrow was poisoned, I think. The leech cleaned the wound as best he could, then we got a healing woman from the Lombard contingent to look at it. It smells like bloody hell and is red and hot. There are blotches that the woman said show the poison is working its way down his leg."

She sat up, slapped her hands on her knees and rose. "Where is he?"

Glancing at Conrad, Ranulf stood. It was clear no more would be imparted until the leaders made their decision, that all Conrad was doing now was canvassing the men for his part in the deliberations. He gestured away from the fire with his head. "Over here." He led her a short distance away to another campfire. Albrecht, she saw, was there, as were Ragnar and Thomas. In their midst, shivering under several cloaks next to the fire, lay the Italian mercenary. His face, all that she could see of him, was ruddy, and sweat stood out on his forehead. His dark, curly hair was plastered with sweat to his scalp. There was an unmistakable smell of putrefaction. She went to his side and knelt. "Ruggiero, my friend," she murmured. She put her hand on his where she could tell they lay on his chest. She knew better than to make empty reassurances. Ruggiero was dying.

He opened his eyes, which had been squeezed shut against the pain that centered in his leg but was spreading up and down it and into his groin. He looked at her, and then stretched his head to find Ranulf's face looming above. "What . . . ?" was all he could get out.

Ranulf's lips curled sardonically. "They are giving up. They are meeting this evening to decide what to do. Conrad said Toulouse wants to make a break for the sea."

Ruggiero nodded. "About time," he rasped. "Too late for me."

No one contradicted him. They were all soldiers. Even the two from Winterkirche could not pretend the wound was not mortal. The poison already overwhelmed the man's remaining strength.

"Ranulf, make me a promise," the prone man said with a note of pleading in his voice. "When you move on, leave me where I can prop myself against something with my sword in my hand. At least I can try to go out taking one of the hell spawn with me."

"I will stay with you," Ragnar began, his voice tight with the effort to keep grief out of it.

"No, you won't," Ruggiero said. "If you do, who will keep Thomas from talking everyone's ears off?" He looked at the silent crossbowman. He saw the tears in the Englishman's eyes. He reached out a feeble hand to try to grasp his. Thomas reached out to meet him halfway. Ruggiero clasped the man's hand. He looked back to Ranulf. "Will you get me a priest?"

Ranulf nodded. Ragnar stood and stalked away.

"I'll go," Elisabeth said, getting to her feet. "You stay with your friend."

She found Father Cyril, a Serbian priest, threading his way through the Lombard peasants, taking confession, soothing fears, his face twisted with the anger he felt at the misery all about him. When she asked him to come, he finished what he was doing and followed her. He knelt by Ruggiero's head. "I have no consecrated wine or bread," he admitted. "But I have trouble believing the Lord would deny you your place in Heaven over such trivialities." He leaned forward so Ruggiero could make his confession and receive extreme unction in privacy.

Elisabeth could see the Italian's lips move, speaking into Cyril's ear, and Cyril nodding his head and making the sign of the cross.

She looked up at Ranulf, whose face was haggard. Thomas knelt nearby with his head bowed so low his long dark hair covered his face. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, then did the same for Ranulf. He gazed back at her, his jaw taut, his eyes fiery, but he nodded. She and Albrecht walked away.

In the morning Ruggiero was dead. "We will not have to leave him behind, not alive at least," Ranulf commented. "Let's get him buried. I do not want his body desecrated like the others we had to leave behind." He glanced at Ragnar. "Is that the ring?" he asked, gesturing to a heavy object in the Dane's hand.

"Yes, he wanted me to take it back to Italy and find his wife and give it to her." He barked a derisive laugh. "He wants me to marry her and raise his children. What am I supposed to do with my own, I ask you?"

Elisabeth looked from one mercenary's face to the next. It had never occurred to her that these men might have homes and families. She thought of Maliha and Tacetin, and a feeling of profound emptiness overtook her. She wondered if any of them would make it out alive.

But they were not able to do the honor for their comrade, for the knights refused them the time. In the end they had to leave Ruggiero, stripped of any valuables, unable even to pile stones on his corpse. Ragnar refused to leave the body alone, but Ranulf drew his sword and threatened the Dane with it. Ragnar stomped away ahead of them, not even trying to hide the tears of rage and grief. Ranulf and Thomas exchanged sorrowful looks.

The oxen held out but many of the packhorses and mules did not. Their desiccated flesh at least provided some sustenance to the starving pilgrims. Eating meat unfortunately increases the amount of water a body needs, so the blessing was mixed. To the number of those with heatstroke and dehydration were added those whose guts could not take the abuse. Some became so ill that they could no longer go on.

Black Beast told Elisabeth and Albrecht to go easy on any food, especially meat, so they and the knights with whom they rode were spared the gripping nausea and voiding of bowels.

She had one less problem to deal with besides. Her monthly flux appeared to have stopped. After the pilgrims left Nicomedia her already sparse menses became spottier, and now that they had been on the road for over a month there was nothing. With a wan smile Elisabeth thought to herself, "Not that a little blood would be out of place these days." Everyone reeked, but she was just as happy to do without that one telltale odor.

The relentless onslaught of archers about every hour or so continued. It had occurred often enough now that few even grumbled, but rather as soon as they heard the hoof beats got into the turtle and prepared to feel the impact of the hundreds of arrows yet another time.

They were caught off guard therefore when that afternoon a large force of Turkish horsemen swept in at the column's van from both sides. The desultory move to turtle formation broke when instead of flights of arrows from thirty feet away a new tactic was underway. This time screaming attacking Turks with pikes and swords followed the arrows. The men in the van, the Burgundian knights and men-at-arms, were delayed getting into more accustomed order to fight one-on-one. They held off the swarm of Turks for a short time, and then panic set in. To Stephen and Odo of Burgundy's mutual horror, they watched as first a few knights, and then almost the entire remainder turned their horses and fled rearward. Stephen screamed himself hoarse calling the knights back, but they were long out of earshot. He and Odo were forced to retreat as well, left, as they were part of only a tiny company of mounted warriors.

The Turks unaccountably did not go after the fleeing knights. Instead they fell on the infantry who had been left behind when the faster horses carried their riders away. Left without their knightly commanders, confusion made what defensive effort the men managed useless, and the Turkish pikes spitted men through their leather and metal gabardines. Turkish swords rose and fell to cleave helms and shoulders. The few men who tried to follow their knights on their own two feet felt Turkish steel in their backs.

With difficulty the apparently fleeing Duke of Burgundy rallied his panicking knights, turned them back to the fore and fell on the Turks. They beat them off but it was too late. Not a single infantryman survived this unexpected attack. Stephen, Odo and the other Burgundian knights sat astride their heaving destriers staring unbelievingly about them at the bodies of every man who had come with them across Europe and on ship to Constantinople.

Other parts of the column experienced this type of attack interspersed with swooping archers' flights of arrows for the rest of the day, but no further panic occurred to decimate the ranks of pilgrims, now barely over five of the six initial thousand.

Finally ahead of them the pilgrims began to see mountains. At first the idea of having to climb dispirited them even further, but when someone said Kastamonu was just north of the first range of hills and that there were passes, the hubbub among soldiers and peasants alike began to convey some hope. At the same time the attacks by mounted archers slowed to a trickle and then stopped. When the first forage parties in days were able to go out and bring back a modicum of food and others came back with water from waterfalls, the elation was palpable.

Saint Gilles called his commanders as well as the leaders of the Lombardy clergy together at a camp at the junction of the valley they had ridden through for the past week or more and one that funneled between hills to the east.

He put his case forthrightly. "We cannot, simply cannot go on to Nixtar. We must break through to the Black Sea and regroup and start again south from Constantinople."

Hugh of Montebello protested, earning Raymond's baleful glare. "But what about Bohemond?"

With a long-suffering sigh, the hero of Antioch replied, "We won't make it as far as where he is held. We can do more for the bas . . . " Conrad's glance made the man veer in a different direction. "Do more for my lord Bohemond from Constantinople."

Stephen of Blois surprised Saint Gilles by saying something sensible. "For all we know the Basileus has already arranged for the ransom. We could get there and find the man already rescued."

"Well, we can't just head north," Albert objected.

Conrad spoke up. "Of course we will scout the passes first to be sure they are not full of ambushes."

Albert shook his head. "That is not what I was going to say."

Elisabeth, now almost a permanent shadow of the Constable's, looked over as Raymond broke in hurriedly, "We can get better news of Bohemond in Kastamonu."

Hugh looked at him. "Is Kastamonu in Byzantine hands?"

"No, it is not. We shall have to take it," Raymond said with resolution.

Someone among the lesser lords remarked, "Alexios would like that!"

Raymond's one eye flashed. "Yes, he would. And so will you when you see the booty you can come away with."

An interested murmur filled the space where the knights met. Finally something of what they had come for.

"And food. And wine. And women!" someone else piped up.

Ludovico put a damper on the enthusiastic response to these rewards. "My sons, there will be no wine. They are Muslims. And I should remind you all that you are holy pilgrims. You pledged yourself to chastity."

A few sniggers were all that broke the embarrassed silence.

Conrad hesitated, then clearing his throat, ventured, "My lord, are we in any condition to lay siege to the fortress?"

Mixed agreement and disapproval met the Constable as he waited for Toulouse's response. Raymond grimaced. "We shall have to scout it out and see. If not, it is but a short way beyond it to the sea. And that is Byzantine controlled."

The murmuring changed to general approval.

"My Lords of Burgundy," Raymond said, directing his glance to them. Both Stephen and Odo looked back at him. "I shall want you to put together a scouting party to check out the passes that run north to Kastamonu and thence to the sea."

The two noblemen from Burgundy saluted and turned to leave the gathering. The voice of Archdeacon Ludovico held them back.

"Should we not, my lords, also scout the way to the east? It seems to me that it is God's will that we not abandon . . . "

"Bohemond. We get it. The jackass got himself captured, why do we have to rescue him?" The hand Conrad placed on Raymond's arm was shaken loose.

"I just said it. It is God's will. Or does that not rank as high as your own, my lord of Toulouse?" Ludovico snapped.

Conrad leaned and spoke into the high commander's ear. Raymond nodded. "All right, we will scout in that direction as well. But it makes no sense to delay our arrival at the sea, so only several leagues into the valley. Then come right back," he said directly to Conrad, who clicked his heels and bowed assent.

The two parties, led by Stephen of Burgundy and Conrad, headed north into the mountain pass and east into the wide valley respectively. Elisabeth and Albrecht as well as the three knights they had met in Mölk were part of the Constable's scouting party. When, as light was fading, the German contingent returned to the main camp after learning very little of the way east, it found the camp in an uproar. Conrad spurred his horse as quickly as he could to the command tent. Elisabeth and her squire returned to their own campfire. They found a haggard Ranulf waiting for them there.

"Thank God," he called when they, after leaving their horses with the grooms who picketed them, strode up to him. "Thank God you are both safe."

"What is it, Ranulf? What has happened?" Elisabeth went to where the water skins lay under a clay pot and, taking one out, unstoppered it and brought the skin to her lips. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her cloak and handed the skin to her squire.

"The Burgundians sent to scout the pass . . . they were ambushed. Dozens were killed. Knights and the Lombard infantry that went with them." Ranulf made the sign of the cross on his chest.

Elisabeth and Albrecht stood motionless and stared at him. "What sort of ambush?" she finally asked lamely.

"Archers again, on both sides. They let them ride in amongst them and then let fly."

Albrecht asked, "Stephen and Odo?"

"Made it back alive, though Odo had a fall from his horse and is recuperating in his tent. Nothing broken, or so I hear. Just banged up badly." Ranulf shrugged. "I wonder what the commanders will decide to do."

Seeing Conrad and his aides striding purposefully away from their horses, Elisabeth hurried to join them.

In the command tent, Hugh of Montebello sounded querulous. "I say we stick to the plan and head east. It is obvious we were not meant to run away but to continue to Nixtar to free Bohemond!" He turned to Conrad. "What was the scouting east in the valley?"

Conrad knew well what Hugh wanted to hear. He wanted reassurance that the way east was safe, but only to settle the dispute. Conrad had to please him, for he and his party had seen nothing to indicate any sort of trap or threat. Reluctantly he responded, "No obstacles we could see. The way was clear. There is a river almost the full length as far as we could see. We would at least have clean water."

His glance in answer to Saint Gilles's glare was resigned.

"I know I shouldn't like to have to face that misery again," said Stephen of Burgundy from where he sat on a campstool having a wound looked to by a chirurgeon. "From what I saw ahead of us, there could easily have been more ambushes on the slopes ahead. Frankly, whether we want to or not, I do not see how we can get through there to Kastamonu. I am no fonder of rescuing the Norman than you are. Is there not some other choice? Ouch, careful there!" he snapped when the man treating his wound tugged too hard on the bandage he was tying.

Raymond looked at Conrad. "Any way out of the valley farther to the east?"

Conrad thought a minute, and then shrugged. "Possibly. I think there may be another river about halfway down the valley that cuts across and into the northern mountains. Maybe there is a good pass there." He turned to look for the guides who knew the territory at least better than the pilgrims did.

"That is true, my lords," said one of the guides. "It is the Halys, though I cannot be certain how it flows to the sea."

Stephen of Blois stopped swirling a goblet of wine long enough to say, "There may be a pass, there is water, and we know to head north from here is death. The choice seems obvious."

The Count of Burgundy concurred. "At least head east to find a new way out."

Their lead commander scowled. "I see no reason not to expect the Turks to lie in ambush anywhere we try to get to the sea, but the devil you don't know."

It was spread about the camp that the pilgrims would head east with Nixtar as their goal. From the Lombardy campfires came a chant of "Bohemond! Bohemond!" along with the sounds of musical instruments, laughter and shrieks of general merrymaking. In the Burgundian camp the camp followers so recently bereaved by their double losses were already moving on to new liaisons.

At their campsite, Alain stood and took leave of his German companions. "Given the choice of that merry lot and your gloomy faces, I think I will see if I can scare up some wine and a wench."

Black Beast stretched and yawned. "I am beat from the scouting foray. I'm going to curl up in my cloak and get some sleep." He gestured to his squire. "Go ahead with Alain and Renard, Bertolf. You could use a little fun."

Gerhardt seemed to hesitate. "The Beast is right. I am all in, but you go have some merrymaking, Wiprecht." The two younger men jumped up from the campfire and trotted to join the Frank. Gerhardt and the big knight took their leave, huddling closer to one of the commanders' tents to take advantage of the windbreak.

Elisabeth and Albrecht sat looking across the fire at each other. "Do you want to go?" she asked him, waving a hand in the direction of the festivities.

Albrecht grinned. "To go get a wench?"

"I suppose not. I do miss Maliha terribly." Elisabeth sighed and rested her chin on her palm.

The look in Albrecht's eyes was wistful. "I wonder," he said slowly, "if, assuming we get back at all. Will they be waiting for us?"

"You doubt . . . um . . . that person?" she asked, surprised.

"I do not know. For all I know we will get back to . . . um, there, and I will discover I am no longer in the picture."

"I am as certain as I can be that I will find Maliha waiting for me." Her face was not the face of a confident person, however. "I hope."

They sat on in silence.

Chapter Fourteen ~ Out of Control

The pilgrims made their way east in peace if not in comfort. They saw no Turks, neither trailing them nor watching them from the heights. If anything, their physical discomforts were magnified by nothing to distract them. The heat continued unabated, and with the wind that coursed through this west-to-east valley, grit stuck wherever there was sweat. Their eyes were red-rimmed with the irritation, their nostrils crusty with dust, and their lips cracked and bleeding. When the breeze died down swarms of flies covered human and animal alike. It was a testament to the docility of mules and oxen that they bore the plaguing insects at all. The soldiers and knights hesitated to remove helms even with no enemy in sight. And at least the helms kept the bugs at bay for the most part.

The way east brought gradual confidence. Articles of armor and clothing came off. The promise of clean water ahead, heralded by a line of trees that clearly lined the banks of a sizable stream or even a river, made the mood lighter, particularly among the camp followers. Some divested themselves of most of their clothing, sang, danced and got into fistfights. The soldiers looked after the cavorting civilians with longing, so much did they want to join them, stretch other muscles than those required for the relentless march, to rest, to seek out willing women, to forget where they were and what they had gone through for just a few hours.

The River Halys was wide but not too swift to cross. The horses did not need to be coaxed to step into the water. Rather they had to be urged on once they stretched their muzzles to drink.

Elisabeth was one of the knights who gladly dismounted and waded through the water. She smiled and laughed when Gerhardt, also afoot, splashed her, wetting her from crown to toe. Though not clear, the water was sweet. If she had not been in full mail, she thought she might have lain down in the river and let it wash over her. She did not even mind that her cracked lips stung and bled as she drank.

Across the river, its course now paralleling their trek on the south, the pilgrims found themselves still alone with no Turks either to their side or trailing them. Perhaps Montebello had been right, Elisabeth wondered. Perhaps Malik Ghazi would leave them be to cross through his territory. Foraging groups went out once more. There was ample water taken from the Halys. Hope rose in many hearts.

The valley ran southwest to northeast. There was evidence of habitations nearer the river, deserted villages, little sign of cultivation. During the long days of the march they were able to forage from the wild. Getting enough food at last the people and the remaining animals began to look less desiccated, to build a little muscle. The pilgrim's lined faces smoothed. Slowly eyes stopped scanning the hilltops as constantly. Were they home free? Might they actually make it?

A scout galloped up a few days into the march with news that a small village lay not far ahead. As the procession moved forward, the village at last came into view. Low walls, flat roofed buildings, one spire.

"What do you see?" one of the women who followed her man from Austria demanded of Elisabeth where she sat high above on Gauner's tall back.

She glanced down at the woman, seeing a comely peasant carrying a listless child. "Just a village, with low walls. There is some sort of grove, olive trees perhaps?" she replied. "There might be people!"

Soon the procession's forward progress changed to a rush toward the small village. Hundreds of pilgrims, she realized, were making straight for the dilapidated gate in the wall that was meant to shelter the villagers. She watched for some minutes, growing anxious at the mob ahead. Finally, she urged her mount forward. She glanced toward some of the other knights and found them pulling out of formation and hurrying forward as well. The Lombard riffraff broke out into full run, unwilling to miss out on whatever the ones before were after.

When Elisabeth and Albrecht reached the village, they saw to their horror that soldiers and noncombatants alike were ransacking it. Men and women and even some older children tore through the village with its two dozen huts and snatched up almost anything they found. One woman held a chicken in her arms and took great bites out of a big flatbread, her children dancing and jumping at her side to get their share. A man-at-arms took his pike and speared an old man who tried to prevent him from carrying off a jug of wine, which broke when it hit the ground as the man-at-arms put both hands on the staff of the pike to thrust it forward. A group of men, some men-at-arms and some peasants, had a woman on the ground and were taking turns violating her. Two of the huts were ablaze. The grove of olive trees was full of pilgrims jumping to pull down under-ripe fruit, others standing in and sometimes breaking the branches as they grabbed and threw down olives.

Elisabeth realized as her anger grew that it was not so much that the villagers were so beset but that the management of provisions had fallen to the chaos. By the time this orgy was over, the pilgrims would be lucky to find anything they could take away with them for the road.

She did not have time to chastise herself for her unworthy thoughts. Albrecht touched her shoulder and pointed. She gasped when she saw a church with the odd cross used in this part of the world, like the ones in Constantinople. A black-cassocked Eastern priest stood in the door wringing his hands and pleading. "My God," she exclaimed. "It is a Christian village!"

She and Albrecht set to trying to prevent any further pillaging and destruction, other knights and some men-at-arms trying to herd the miscreants out of the gate and back to where the rest of the procession stood gawping. She noticed when she glanced their way that Father Cyril and some other priests were guiding the distraught priest of the small church back into its sanctuary. Cyril stood in front of the door with a stout cudgel daring anyone to enter and despoil the holy place. "Come," Elisabeth called to her squire, and led him to the church. Cyril shot her a disgusted look until she dismounted and went to stand, sword drawn, at his side. It felt good to have a specific thing to defend. Two Italian knights and a crossbowman joined them. Any looters intent on the altar treasures took one look at the armed men and the priest with his angry glare and went to find easier prizes.

Gathering after the ransacking of the village, pilgrims began to fight each other for the food and other spoils taken from the now-destroyed village. Those villagers left alive took refuge in the church, where the Eastern priest and some of the women of the town, more than a few weeping from being violently used, tended the wounded and wept over the dead.

Elisabeth and Albrecht tried to help, but they were confronted with angry stares and were sworn at and spit on. They made their way back to their own party. They found Gerhardt, who was telling a story bitterly of the unwillingness of the leaders to make any effort first to prevent the disaster or to do anything afterward to punish transgressors. "They just put up their tent and took their ease. At least Conrad was not among them. He was herding people out of the olive grove."

A man-at-arms responded to the German knight's lament that the town was a Christian one, "We left the church alone!"

Gerhardt spat at the man, turned and came over to Elisabeth and her squire. "You expect this with a Paynim village, but a Christian one?"

She eyed him. "Where were Black Beast and Alain during all this?"

He spat on the ground again. "Watching." He strode away, leaving her to look for her other companions.

Elisabeth found Ranulf sitting with his back to one of the olive trees, taking advantage of the little shade left after the tree was stripped of many of its limbs. She slid down to sit by him. The base of the tree was thick with olives trampled by the despoilers and defenders alike. He offered her a wineskin. When her hand reached for it then hesitated, he assured her, "It's not the fruit of pillage. I paid a village woman for it."

Elisabeth took the skin, tipped its spout to her lips, and sighed with pleasure at the wetness and the taste. Handing it back to Ranulf she nodded her thanks.

"I would really like to get drunk right now," she admitted.

Ranulf toasted her with the wineskin. "As would I," he said. They sat for a while in silence. He finally spoke. "I am sorry I ever came on this pilgrimage."

She sat with her head back and her eyes closed. "Why did you and the others come? You don't seem like the usual pilgrims."

He snorted without amusement. "I take that as a compliment." He saw she had opened her eyes and was waiting for an answer. "I suppose you have heard we are seeking absolution for something, eh, Elias?"

She nodded, but said no more.

"It's true, though probably not what anyone thinks. We did not rape nuns. We did not desecrate a church. We did nothing of the sort. In fact, it was doing nothing that we desire forgiveness for." He took a long swig of the wine. "It was Mainz, a few years ago, when the first call went out to liberate the Holy Land from the Paynim. You know of course that the first wave of pilgrims, the ones heeding Peter the Hermit's call, went berserk virtually at once. They turned on Jews in their own cities, and they did the same in every Christian town they passed through on their way to Byzantium. In the Rhineland Count Emicho of Leinengen was joined by other gangs. Yes, gangs, for they looked like no pilgrims I had ever seen."

He took another long draught. "The Emperor called for the Jews to be protected, and so did the bishops. That's where my men and I became involved. The burghrave who was the military officer, who worked for the burghers of Mainz and Bishop Ruthard, after hearing of the massacres in Speyer and how in Worms the mob broke into the bishop's palace and murdered the Jews he was protecting, called in all the soldiers they could, mostly mercenaries. After all, we will protect anyone if the price is right, eh?"

Elisabeth waited while he took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"They said that Peter the Hermit had a letter from the Jews in his own town telling other Jews to provide all the supplies the crusaders wanted or they might find themselves under attack. The Jews of Mainz gave Emicho a king's ransom in gold and the Bishop begged him to pass the town by. Emicho fulfilled his promise by turning a blind eye to what happened next. The gangs went into the city and many of the people there joined in the slaughter. They even invaded the Ruthard's palace, as they had in Worms, and killed every one of the Jews sheltered inside. They made a show of forcing the Jews to convert to Christianity, but nothing was going to prevent the slaughter. My mercenaries were hired by Bishop Ruthard to help the burghers of Mainz to keep order as best we could. It was astonishing to hear him and other Christian leaders protecting the Jews. I suppose it was because it was more than the usual riot. Usually it's gangs of young men who are drunk and trawl the streets of the Jewry to look for people to beat up. This time the victims were the whole tribe. And we both know Jews can be quite important if a nobleman or bishop needs money for some reason. Sometimes when it comes to paying back the loans, they may preach themselves blue in the face that Jews are in league with the Devil and all that."

He glanced at her and seeing her continued attention, went on. "There was a young woman with four little children, a Christian who had converted when she married a Jew. Her husband had been dragged into an alley and beaten senseless. He died of his wounds. This woman, Rachel she was called, had been so kind to us, my men and me. When the Hermit's party was on its way to Mainz, I promised her I would protect her, keep her and her children from harm. Then when the pilgrims arrived and started to burn the Jewry and kill every Jew they could find, we had enough to do to get them back under control. The others, Ruggiero and Ragnar, told me I was daft to worry about Rachel, that it was more important we protect the churches and the burghers' homes and shops. I finally could not stand it anymore. I made my way through the rioting mob to Rachel's house." Ranulf stopped talking and stared out to some unknown memory. His voice broke. "She was there. She had killed her four children and then herself. Cut their throats, like sacrificial goats. Rather than letting them be torn apart and herself ravished, she chose to take them with her as she died. I went into her house to warn them the roof was close to catching from a fire next door, and there they lay scattered on the floor. The littlest one looked for all the world as if he had curled up on the floor and gone to sleep, save for the bloody puddle he lay in. The other children had the most horrible looks on their faces. Two were crumpled on the floor. I found myself wondering how she got her children to wait patiently while the others were killed. The fourth child was in her arms as if she had clutched him there so he could not escape. She herself lay with the tracks of tears in her eyes, her own throat cut, the knife on the floor where it fell."

Ranulf buried his face in his hands. "I had let her down. I had broken my promise." His words were muffled in his palms. "After that it took Ruggiero, Ragnar and Thomas some time to find me. They finally did, in a brothel, drunk out of my mind. I stayed drunk for months. It was only when I heard that the Holy Father had called for another pilgrimage to support Baldwin and the others in Jerusalem that I saw a way to make it right with God again."

Elisabeth laid a hand on his arm. "And the others? Why did they come?"

Ranulf looked at her. He had tears in his eyes. "Out of love and loyalty for me, I suppose. And for my sin one of them is dead. And he never even got to Palestine, no less Jerusalem."

They sat quietly together in that place for some time.

Finally, Elisabeth spoke. "What now? Continue east?"

He shrugged. "What else? Go make more mothers kill their children rather than face what we bring with us."

As long as they followed the Halys, which ran just to the south of them, the hunger and thirst that had claimed so many of their number eased. Though deserted, the small settlements and clumps of farm buildings were set like jewels in rich and verdant country with all the pilgrims could have wanted, save for livestock. Wherever the people had gone, like earlier they had taken their animals with them. What the pilgrims had left of the meat taken from mules, and horses that had died in the long, hot, thirsty trek north, was meted out in stews and potage. The one benefit of the terrible dry heat was that the recovered meat cut into strips and spread out on the cargo of the carts dried thoroughly and quickly and therefore lasted longer than it might have. Thus tenderized and chopped small, the pilgrims' stomachs could tolerate what had been so harsh on them before.

Then the river angled north to a narrow gap in the hills. They were forced to cross it or follow it north to the sea. Again, the Archdeacon and the Lombardy nobles made their demands plain. They would continue east to Nixtar. They were in Danishmend territory now and had not even seen scouts watching them. They insisted the mountainous valley the river had cut to the Black Sea was an unnecessary detour. Certainly Nixtar was due east through more fertile land. They would be there soon and valiantly rescue the noble Bohemond.

Even Raymond's promises to find boats once on the sea to sail east to Nixtar did not tempt them. By this time no one trusted Raymond not to take what boats they found back to Constantinople. In spite of their apparent security from attack they all knew that to split forces was to court danger, so they continued east after finding a second ford in the Halys. Crossing it this time was not such a cheerful event.

Conrad's and the Frankish commanders' contingents felt their hearts sink almost upon reaching the other side of the river. Gone were the fertile fields. Gone was the continuous source of usable water.

Three full days from the river the pilgrims began to see the glint of metal from the tops of the low hills they rode between. Conrad's contingent was in the van now, had been since the village. Ranulf rode alongside Elisabeth and Albrecht, his squinting eyes scanning where it was clear to see that Paynim had them well in view. Those knights and men-at-arms who had risked removing their helms to try to reduce the effect of the sun now donned them and strapped them on firmly.

"Looks like we are in for some excitement," the mercenary captain commented acerbically. "I had better find Ragnar and Thomas in case we are called into formation." He saluted his companions and turned his horse and made his way to the rear.

No scouts had returned for most of the day. They were delayed, captured or dead. That so many sent in so many different directions were missing argued for dead.

Meanwhile the pilgrim leaders rode together to confer.

"I wondered where they had got to," Raymond said, his hand over his eye as he saw more and more soldiers on horseback gathering on the heights.

"Do you get the impression we are being funneled through this valley very deliberately?" the Count asked.

"I think we are about to find out," Raymond replied. He gestured forward to what for all the world looked like an opening in the line of hills. "No soldiers there," he observed ominously. He looked back to where the German Constable rode close behind him, gesturing for Conrad to ride up alongside him.

The leaders rode forward conferring with their guides until they reached the wider gap that lay just before them. It was true that the hills that rose up on either side were completely unmanned. As they emerged on the other side they found themselves in what seemed to be an all but deserted valley of immense dimensions.

Mounted on Gauner near where Conrad and Raymond spoke with the guides, Elisabeth shielded her eyes to look at the vista that lay before her. After the long and anxiety-ridden ride in the Halys Valley with low mountains funneling the pilgrims to this point, it was disorienting to look out over such a wide and mostly empty plain. The Plain of Merzifon, the guides said it was called. They were at its edge, the pass from the valley behind them, and more mountains many miles to the east. She had to shake her head to clear it of the unexpected vertigo.

The parlay broke up, and Raymond rode back to share the intelligence with his other commanders. Conrad walked his horse over to where his own German knights waited. He pointed to a speck almost in the middle of the plain. "They say that town is called Gumushaciköy." He indicated a distant scattering of structures surrounded by a continuous wall. "Raymond thinks we should head for it."

"And what do you say, my lord?" asked Black Beast.

Conrad scanned the way ahead from the north all the way to the south. "The town looks big enough to have more than one well. Perhaps up here the wells don't run dry in midsummer."

"That is a big 'if,'" the big knight with his bushy black beard responded.

Conrad glared at him. "This entire escapade is a big 'if.' I think it's our best choice."

Albrecht rode up to Elisabeth's side. "What is that dust cloud on the far horizon?"

Overhearing his question, Conrad asked, "What dust cloud? My old eyes can't make it out."

Elisabeth stood in her stirrups and peered into the distance. "My lord, it looks like it is along the base of the mountains to the southeast. There is some wind over there. Perhaps it is merely that, a windstorm?"

Conrad frowned. "Let's hope that is all it is." He paused and shook his head. "If it is horsemen then they are a good distance away. We should reach the town long before they cross to it." He glanced around at the tops of the hills they had just passed between. "I see we still have our escort after all."

Indeed the familiar line of Turks spread along the ridges on either side of them.

Gerhardt shrugged. "They don't seem to be forming any sort of attack. Just scouts?"

"Yes, but for whom and why?" the Constable wondered.

As the pilgrims advanced into the wide plain, the Danishmend riders that had appeared on the hills kept their distance, tracking the pilgrims to both sides of the column. As a result the Christians were able to move along more rapidly than they had to this point. When the walls of the town were visible to all, the pace increased with a promise of good shelter. The reprovisioning before the Halys turned north to the sea had revived spirits until a day or two, and the view ahead helped to reinvigorate them.

They reached the town of Gumushaciköy just before dark, finding it empty of people and animals but supplied amply with three large wells near the middle of the mud houses. The commanders quickly dispatched their officers to direct the ox carts and remaining pack animals to the center of the town and select the first watch of pickets. They encircled the town where they could see over the crude walls while the clergy and peasants gathered by the wells, surrounded by the thousands of men who dropped where they stood and slept until it was time for their turns on watch. Elisabeth and Albrecht found themselves bunked outside the mud wall of the deserted house Conrad and his household knights squeezed into. Elisabeth knew she could have claimed space on the floor, but she preferred to stay outside with the squires where she could at least breathe.

Exhausted, the company slept. Elisabeth was surprised to wake at dawn, having assumed her party would be posted to at least one of the watches during the night. "It looks like Conrad got us some extra rest," she commented to Albrecht as she looked about for a place where she could discreetly relieve herself. Privacy was not possible, so she was already reaching into her britches for the cylinder of leather as she headed for the other side of the mud hut.

The prosthetic was wearing out by now and she got as much pee on her britches as she did against the wall. She was mopping at the moisture when she heard a shout from the southwest. She dashed back to where her companions were grabbing helms, sword belts and shields. "What is it? Oh, my God!"

Through the gaps in the rickety wall around the town she saw thousands of Turkish archers riding toward the town. Someone screamed "Shield wall!" unnecessarily, as long habit had the men forming concentric circles of outward-facing shields already.

This time the Turks were not so chary about maintaining distance away from the pilgrims. They knew the Christians would not leave the inadequate protection of the town walls, so they swooped close enough that as they veered to ride around the town some crossbowmen managed to pick off a few. These men in loose robes screamed like any other man and crashed down to the earth from horseback, getting trampled by their fellows riding over them.

The mounted archers were close enough as well to improve their own harvest. Elisabeth saw that each time the archers rode by where the German contingent were stationed about a dozen men in the shield wall were struck and fell. They were replaced almost as quickly by men who were in the wall behind them in more encircling ranks.

Just as she was wondering yet again how the archers stayed so well supplied with arrows, the horses with their deadly cargo seemed to veer away. The space they had occupied was now filling with line after line of spearmen with shields. This was new. This was more like the Europeans had expected in spite of Raymond's experienced coaching.

Albrecht punched her shoulder to gain her attention. "Look there. Do you think that man could be . . . ?"

Not wanting to raise her head any higher than she needed to, Elisabeth strained to see where he indicated. "Who? Oh, you mean that one richly helmeted man? The one with the red streamer and all those particularly bloodthirsty looking guards?" She looked back at Albrecht. "You think that's Kilij Arslan? The Sultan?"

He shrugged. "I would say get Thomas, but the man is out of crossbow range."

As the morning wore on it seemed to Elisabeth that the ranks of Turks grew thicker and thicker, riding around and around and making her feel dizzy and nauseous again. She noticed Conrad talking to one of the guides who was pointing here and there in the swarm of turbaned riders. She tied Gauner to a post and went to find out what her commander had learned.

Conrad was distracted, but he answered her question. "He identified the banners of all the tribes represented in that mess. There is one missing, it seems."

Her look told him she did not comprehend the significance.

"The Emir of Nixtar is not here."

"The one holding Bohemond," she stated without inflection. "And?"

Conrad beckoned one of his younger knights. He pointed to the east and yelled something in the man's ear that Elisabeth did not make out in all the noise.

"I think we are about to find out where that Emir is. Get back to your men."

She wanted to stay and find out what he learned from the knight, but she could not disobey his order. She returned with alacrity, reluctant though she was, and retrieved Gauner and surveyed the still circling Turks.

Ranulf was suddenly beside her. "What did he say?" he demanded without preamble.

She glanced at him. He had aged since Ruggiero's death, she noticed. "The Emir of Nixtar is not among these attackers. How are Ragnar and Thomas?"

His eyebrows went up. "Nixtar, eh? I don't know if that is a blessing or suggests worse to come. And Ragnar is anxious to kill something Turkish. Who knows with Thomas?"

They both looked over at where Conrad sat his mount and waited for one of the Byzantine knights attached to Saint Gilles. The man's face was flushed. Conrad listened to his message, nodded grimly, and turned to ride toward his German party.

One of his aides drew their attention and then waited as they settled nearby to hear their commander's words.

"That dust cloud some of you noticed to the east is coming toward us from the general direction of Nixtar. We are already hard pressed, and reinforcements to the Turkish ranks will not do us any good. We have been deputed to break out of here somehow and do some scouting to the north and also look for more water."

A chorus of voices demanding to be part of the scouting party nearly deafened Elisabeth, who happened to be nearer the commander than most. Her own voice was part of the din.

"I will take fifty knights. Go round up your men, including shield men, and let their officers know we are in for some rough riding. That should make . . . " He leaned to his aide and asked the man a question. He relayed the answer. "That should give us about seven hundred men and at least fifty shields in addition to the knights. We could go faster and retreat sooner with fewer, but it's likely we will have to do some fighting." His lips curled up at the edges at the enthusiastic cheer his men returned at this news. Nodding, he turned to ride to the command center for more instructions.

They waited until dusk fell and the Turks who harried them thinned out and melted away. The company of men slipped out through the main gate and rode or walked away from the relative safety of the walled town.

Conrad led them east by northeast toward the first range of hills between the plain and the sea. It seemed they were first to investigate the guides' report of a year-round spring at the base of one hill that showed promise, its foot treed like an oasis in the desert and the hillside lushly green in spite of the heat. Their path intersected with a dark, muddy and narrow river, which they continued to follow toward the base of the hills.

Once out of the walls of the town where they had camped, they no longer were alone. They nervously eyed the line of Turkish horsemen that appeared to be some sort of escort for all they made no effort to attack.

When ahead they could see a town's walls, Conrad shouted to hasten their pace and head for it.

Perhaps it was their haste to make the town but no one saw the thin line of horsemen riding toward them from three directions. Depending on where you rode in Conrad's party, you could or could not tell that each of the three was a long, long line of men, only coalescing into ranks as they neared the pilgrim procession.

"Oh dear God," Conrad exclaimed. He searched the nearing hillside. "There, a village. Make for it!"

On their lighter, faster horses, the Turks, again in their thousands, caught up with the men in the rear just before the full complement of infantry could get inside the village. As the knights rode in through the gate of the town, the residents were fleeing with everything they could snatch to run out the postern gate into the gullies and hills.

The Turkish horsemen fell on the pilgrim stragglers and with both arrows and slashing swords made short work of them. They tore toward the village gates but checked when they saw the thick rows of crossbowmen stationed there. The Turks peeled off and rode back to a short distance and stopped to look back at the village.

Panting, Elisabeth quickly turned Gauner to face whatever assault was coming, only to see the backs of the Turks who had pursued them. She shot looks in every direction, only able to see through the walls of the village where no building blocked her view. What she could see told her little. Tensely she waited, then she finally unbuckled the helm strap under her chin and looked about, letting a slight breeze dry her sweat-soaked hair. The village was a tiny one. The pilgrims filled, it seemed, every inch of ground between the buildings. They were trapped and they knew it.

Almost unable to move in the press, she finally saw some effort going on to organize the men and horses. She was surprised to see several young boys involved and realized they must be from the village. The young boys of any town, no matter where in the world and under what circumstances, will come out of thin air to make a coin or two. She shook her head at the very dependability of it.

Dismounting, she whistled to one of the boys. His head spun around and he dashed toward her. As he approached he slowed to a stop and stood looking at her, puzzled. The silver coin she held up before him cleared whatever mystery had halted him.

Elisabeth gestured to her horse. She mimed tying Gauner up and getting him water and grain. Then she held the coin up again and with her other hand put forth two fingers. The universal language of trade did the trick. The boy smiled, his teeth impossibly straight and white, and snatching the coin from her hand took Gauner's reins and led him to a hitching post. He took one puzzled glance over his shoulder. Seeing his look, she wondered what the boy had seen that no one else seemed to? She found herself checking her clothing and reaching up to her shorn hair looking for the telltale evidence of her womanhood.

She went in search of her friends. She found the mercenaries standing with Albrecht in the shade of a hut. "The knights?" she asked her squire.

Albrecht made his short bow. "I have not seen Alain, my lord, but the other two are over there."

She followed his pointing finger to where Black Beast and Gerhardt were using the shade from their own horses' bodies to stretch out. "They look like they are camped for the night," she observed.

"Probably smart," Ranulf replied. "Who knows when and if we will get to sleep again, and we can certainly use it."

She was surprised to see a sort of resignation on his face. At first she assumed he dreaded assault, but something in his mournful eyes disclosed to her that he expected far worse. It was not the first time Elisabeth had realized that any or all of them might be killed on this journey. But it struck her hard and suddenly now. She had a vision of Maliha's tear-stained face at their parting. She had to shove down a sob that threatened to erupt.

Ranulf seemed to sense her distress and slapped her on the shoulder. He spoke no words to reassure her.

She cast about for a reason to walk rapidly away. To her relief she saw Conrad's aide coming toward them. "The Constable wants to see you all," he said to Elisabeth and her four companions.

It was not difficult to find the commander, though it was more than difficult to make their way to him through the press. Elisabeth saw him just yards away and saw him look up and catch her eye. They continued, gazes locked, until they finally closed the distance between them. Conrad acknowledged the small group and gestured for them to step to the door of one of the mud huts.

Inside he came right to the point. "If we can't get out of here, we are all dead. Whether their sheer multitudes allow them to break through or they keep us here until we die of hunger, thirst or heat, we are done for. I don't relish that prospect. Friedrich has a plan, and I want you five to carry it out." He stepped aside so that one of the infantry officers could come forward.

They had not seen the man in the hut until Conrad mentioned him. He was an older man, much battle scarred and dour. They knew him, an able man who had a good hand with the troops. They listened as he explained.

"Our best hope is to get word to Saint Gilles and the other commanders that we are trapped here. With the heathens all about us we cannot simply break out. A small force could sneak out. They would have to slip out in the dark and separate, so that at least one might get through." He grimaced. "You will have to listen for the others' cries to know where the path is the safest."

Ranulf laughed shortly. "By guessing where the others have met their deaths and where no one is dead . . . yet?"

Conrad and Friedrich answered with grim faces.

Albrecht spoke up. "My lord, I will go, but I do not think you need to sacrifice Elias or the mercenaries. Their skills are too well utilized elsewhere. Cannot I take a small force of the infantry, maybe an archer, to make it out and to the larger village?"

Elisabeth started to protest but bit her tongue. What Albrecht said made sense. She glanced at Ranulf, who was looking at Thomas, who had held his crossbow up to show he was an archer. Ranulf's look was resigned.

Conrad looked at Friedrich with one eyebrow lifted. "That sounds sensible to me. Can you select some of your men who are light of foot and see well in the dark?" Receiving the officer's nod, he turned back to the five companions. "All right, you, squire, and the crossbowman, go with Friedrich. But the rest of you stand by. We may need to send a second party."

Outside the hut Ragnar walked up to Ranulf, fuming. "You are just going to let Thomas walk out of here to his death?" he demanded.

Ranulf put his hands on his hips and glared back at the Dane. "Can you think of anyone better than Thomas to fill the need?"

Thomas put a hand on Ragnar's shoulder and shook his head. The Dane stared into his eyes, then turned and stormed away.

Elisabeth hardly noticed the exchange, so focused was she on Albrecht. "That was very brave and admirable of you." Her voice held a tinge of sarcasm.

Albrecht stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "You would do the same, if I hadn't beaten you to it."

Her jaw tight, she tried to come up with an answer to this. Her eyes blazed at him. "I . . . I . . . ," she stammered.

"You know I am right."

With a deep sigh, Elisabeth let her shoulders drop. She tried to speak so no one would overhear. "I can't lose you, Albrecht."

Albrecht's lips twitched. He pressed them hard together. He nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You will be all right. Now I have to go." He looked to where Thomas walked away with Friedrich and hurried toward them.

Elisabeth looked over at the setting sun. She could not see anything but its glow as unwanted tears obscured her vision.

Chapter Fifteen ~ Overwhelming Odds

Elisabeth did not see Albrecht or Thomas again that night. The two, along with four foot soldiers, slipped out of a hole in the wall made by simply kicking out the sticks that bolstered the hardened mud. They found some black garments on a drying line between the houses and tore them into wide strips, wound and tied them around their helms, swords, and wherever their mail or other armor might reflect the thin light of the moon or an enemy campfire.

Sleepless, Elisabeth and Ranulf heard the first cry. They glanced at each other, anxiety written all over their faces. She made the sign of the cross as Ranulf jumped to his feet and ran off in the direction of the main gate.

She stood and walked more slowly in the same direction. She felt chilled all over. Her knees and elbows seemed stiff and uncooperative. Ranulf and Ragnar met her coming back when she was no more than halfway there.

"We don't know," Ranulf anticipated her questions.

It was then that the sound of hoof beats and shouts reached them from down the hillside. "I can't bear it!" Elisabeth cried, holding her head with both hands and gritting her teeth. Ranulf put his arm around her shoulders and he and Ragnar returned to where they had been sitting just minutes before.

They continued to hear sounds of rallying from the Turkish camp. First shouts, then horses' hoof beats, then more shouts and the sound of frenetic activity.

Ragnar asked, "Getting ready to attack us or to chase the men?"

Just then a shout in German came from within their own camp. It was the call to positions, and the three grabbed cloaks and helms and ran to their stations. Hundreds of men gathered in ranks as best they could in the cramped spaces between the houses and waited.

For such a company, the quiet was eerie. All strained to listen to what the Turks were engaged in. In a very short while it was clear that they were going away from, not toward, the village. Wide eyes looked out from each side of the nosepieces of their helms as they glanced at each other, fearing to believe, to hope.

The hubbub began to grow as the outside sounds grew more distant. It was still hours to dawn when the command came at last to stand down. Few slept, waiting for what the morning would bring.

Black Beast and Gerhardt found Elisabeth with the two mercenaries. Ragnar and the Beast bared their teeth at each other, but Ranulf only glowered. Looking about, Gerhardt was the one to ask, "Where's your squire?"

Elisabeth indicated the south with her head. "Out there." She did not have to explain what she meant. They knew instantly that she meant he was part of the mission to get help.

"Alone?" queried the Beast.

Ranulf answered him. "No, our crossbow--en went with him and there were four infantry on the mission as well. Friedrich's men."

The Beast's inquiring face looked blank.

Gerhardt supplied, "The officer from Conrad's own infantry squad."

"Uh," the big dark, bearded man grunted.

Elisabeth and Ranulf suddenly found themselves summoned to Conrad's billet. There they found the commander and Friedrich questioning one of the foot soldiers who had gone out with the party. He was telling his story.

"There seemed to be few campfires but we were not inclined to be overconfident. It was possible the Turks guessed what the pilgrims might try and had made the way difficult. Your squire," he nodded to Elisabeth, "split us up three different ways. It was hard going, the ground uneven and stones strewn everywhere, but mostly I tried to hear what was happening to the other men. You know that the hill was steep and the way treacherous with rocks, roots and unexpected holes. I thought I heard either Albrecht or Thomas make a misstep but right himself. I couldn't have seen them in the dark anyway, but I kept my eye on campfires I could see on the plain just past the foot of the hill.

"Then all hell broke loose. I guess we tripped a picket, because I heard my mate scuffle with someone and then scream. I knew I was done for, so I veered off and ran like a rabbit away from that place. I meant to find my other fellows, but instead I found myself faced with Albrecht and the crossbowman. They looked like they had seen a ghost. I shouted my name to them, and they waved me to follow where they were going. When we reached the bank of the river, we stopped.

"Albrecht said we had to find horses. I started to look for where the Turks had tied theirs, when that fellow, Thomas. He made a sign to wait, and took off. The squire and me, we crouched down low to see what would happen. All at once we heard a shout, followed by many more men shouting, and heard a horse coming toward us at a gallop. Albrecht said, 'I wish he would talk so we could know for sure it's him.' I didn't know what he meant. The man on the horse reached down with his arm and Albrecht grasped it as it came near him and swung himself up on the horse's back behind the man. I couldn't keep up and besides where would I sit? So I just ran off and hid. And now I'm here."

Ranulf asked, "Then they got away?"

"I am not sure," the man answered. "I got down out of sight just as a pack of archers rode by, firing in the direction our two men had ridden. They could be away or they could be lying in the dirt like my mate was." He looked miserably down at the cup of water he held.

The mercenary captain said as he and Elisabeth left the hut, "I guess we just wait and see."

She nodded numbly.

The remainder of the night seemed to last several days. Of the majority who stayed awake was the Constable himself. At first light he sent scouts out to assess the situation and, if possible, to bring water from the river. These men came back without the water but talking excitedly all at once.

The Turks were gone from around the village. The scouts had surprised some villagers who were searching their hastily abandoned campsites. They scampered away when they were discovered, leaving the bodies of three men lying where it was obvious many men had camped. The fires were covered with sand and dirt, but the signs of men and horses milling about showed in trampled grass and churned-up earth. The three bodies were lying twisted and had been mutilated. One of the men may have lived long enough to be tortured, though no one had heard the sounds that the treatment should have made. The corpses were fetched into the village.

Ragnar came back from forcing his way in to the crowd about the bodies. "It's not them. I know Thomas's clothing and no one is Albrecht's coloring."

"Could you not tell from their faces who they were?" Elisabeth demanded.

Ragnar fixed her with an angry stare. "What faces?" was his reply.

Conrad allowed his men to hoist the three bodies onto a horse, but then commanded the party of remaining knights, shield men and infantry to head out of the village to return to the main camp. While the men got ready to leave, a couple dozen were sent to the river to fill the water skins brought back empty by the first party.

As they rode and walked down the hill Elisabeth looked for any sign of Albrecht. She was shocked to see a pile of bodies some way downwind of where the Turks' main camp had been. They were burning, a collective funeral pyre, and she could tell that the pile had been burning for some time. The occasional breeze sent the choking smell in the direction of the crusaders, and Elisabeth could not bring herself to ride closer to see if Albrecht or Thomas could be found. She pulled her gaze away and caught Ranulf's eye. "Our dead from last night? When we first got here?"

He shrugged.

The quick pace Conrad set kept the mass of men awake and alert where their exhaustion and foreboding might have dulled them into torpor. The sound of battle began to waft to them in bits and pieces, and soon they could see the mass of Turkish horsemen this side of the pilgrim camp.

"Danishmend archers," someone shouted. The horsemen were riding away from Conrad's company and veering away from the walls of the town after loosing the customary hundreds of arrows and riding away. It felt strange to watch it all from a distance, behind the attackers.

Elisabeth looked to where Conrad had paused and was watching the onslaught. From beside her she heard Black Beast's voice moan, "The fools. They came out of the walls!"

Indeed, Elisabeth could just see that the crusaders were no longer inside the town. They were lined up in formation around a little stony hill about a mile around meeting the waves of archers as they rode up, loosed arrows, and rode away. They were in the familiar shield walls, but stationary, in a far more familiar formation to Europeans. She peered through the eyeholes of her helm for the banners she would recognize among the pilgrims. There was Toulouse's red banner with its stylized gold cross, Stephen of Burgundy's bars on red, Odo's eagle, Blois's silver and gold bars on blue, and the others.

"It's just the soldiers and knights," she called to those around her. "I see Count Albert's banners there." At this point she could not see the pilgrim camp around a pool formed by a spring behind the stone hill. The whole of the pilgrim camp had moved to the ever-refilling spring-fed pool when the wells in the town had gone dry the evening before.

Conrad's company trotted west about five miles along a nearly-level but winding road above the plains and along the base of the mountains. About a mile from the European lines they veered south down a wide but shallow ridge that flared from the side of the mountains to come behind the sweep of the Danishmend archers. Conrad's progress brought them to a point that allowed some elevated observation of the battle, taking place before them. What they saw spread before them all around the half-mile-round stony hill were tight formations of the different armies. As she had seen, those who faced in their direction were the fighters of the Count of Bandage. The sun was halfway between dawn and midday. The heat was increasing, but none of the fighters felt it. They were too completely caught by the death struggle before them.

Elisabeth found that when the waves of mounted Turkish archers cleared she could see the banners of her own people above their heads. To the north at the base of the mountains a half mile from the stone hill she saw Stephen of Burgundy's banner and assumed it obscured Odo's. To the south was Toulouse's, with at least one of the Byzantine leaders' not far from it. She thought she could make out Blois's on the far side of the press of crusaders and just by them the outlandish armor of Pecheneg, but the latest wave of attack from the Turks prevented her from confirming what she saw.

The ranks of knights and infantry of the pilgrims seemed immobile. They stood or sat on their mounts, shields raised, letting the thousands of archers swoop, shoot, and ride away. It was clear that they had come out of the village expecting to engage the Turks in battle, but there was no foe to engage. It was more like trying to swat deadly insects. So they stood circling the hill and its ridges surrounding its little spring-fed pond where the holy men and women cared for the ever-growing number of wounded as the Turks rode up to them and shot only to ride down and away again and again.

Conrad seemed to be waiting for something. Heads turned to watch him, the men expecting to be thrown into the melee. Elisabeth wondered if he had a reason to hold back, and if it was an honorable one.

She saw him speak to several of his commanders, then face the battle again and start to raise his arm to order the charge. Several men, some on horseback and several on foot, anticipated the gesture and went forward on impulse. She saw that one of those on foot had the helm of the Danes and realized it was Ragnar. She imagined she could hear his battle cry and the core of murderous anger in it.

Already turning and riding toward them, one company of Turkish archers on horseback screamed. Arrows caught many of the men from Conrad's force as they hurried to meet them. Some of the men and the knights made their way to the mounted archers and started to slash and spear their way through them. It was hard to see from this distance but Elisabeth fancied she saw the Dane's helm pierce and become enveloped in the ranks of the horsemen. It was then that Conrad shouted them forward. "Deus lo volt!" he screamed. Elisabeth was startled. She had almost forgotten the crusader's war cry.

The scene Elisabeth and her companions raced toward was for the first time actual battle. The mounted archers were not allowed to sweep by and then away. The group that had rushed forward engaged them, knights on horseback and others, like Ragnar, on foot. While mounted archers continued to swoop in and let loose arrows in the distance, these archers found themselves facing spears, axes and swords with nowhere to run.

Many dropped their bows and drew swords with curved blades. The casualties on both sides started to accumulate under the horses' hooves almost instantly. Elisabeth saw horses lacking riders, both the small fleet Turkish animals and the big heavy destriers, suddenly come out of the raging battle and run away. The rest roiled about, making it impossible to see how the melee was going.

Before her attention snapped to the battle she was about to enter, she sensed the sudden change of the scene nearer the hill. The Lombard knights, including Albert and Montebello, were breaking and running. The rain of arrows by their thousands had become too much. Seeing the Lombards desert, the Pecheneg looked to General Tzitas. He made some sort of signal and the entire Pecheneg force followed the Lombard knights who had turned into the mountains after skirting Raymond's position.

The combined mass of deserting knights broke easily through the bands of swooping archers and headed northwest along the lower ridges of the mountains, away from Conrad's little force. A few Turks started to chase after them but were called back to finish the battle before the hill.

Saint Gilles, the Hero of Antioch, who had been positioned on the peak of the stony hill between the Lombards and the Pecheneg, suddenly found himself and his own household knights alone with no defense to their flanks.

One of the Turkish commanders saw the knights looking about in panic and whooped. He led his men directly uphill toward them.

One of Raymond's knights shouted, "Over here!" Without stopping to see where he directed, Raymond and his knights wheeled and rode to a small spur, really just a rocky outcrop on which they could form a smaller circle. They reached it and spurred their destriers onto it just in time to avoid being overrun by the Turks. They instead started to circle the outcrop to shoot up at the knights on their stony platform. Raymond and his men huddled behind shields on their perch, praying one of the other commanders had seen what had happened and would come to rescue them.

Stephen of Burgundy, though beleaguered on his side, had seen the whole fiasco. He shouted to Stephen of Blois, and the two brought their knights and many infantry from the northwestern flank of the original circle around the pond to rescue Raymond and his men. The Turkish horsemen, unprepared to face enemy on two sides, veered away and rode off onto the plain southward. Raymond and his knights were able to ride off the outcrop and rejoin the European forces.

They were now the whole of the Christian force, or so they thought until one of Raymond's knights shouted and waved his arms. Toulouse looked over to where he could see some melee breaking up to the east. Danishmend archers were riding away, but it appeared that their numbers were severely reduced. Raymond cheered, "Good old Conrad! And he wanted us to come rescue him!" He let out a whoop of triumph.

Conrad's muttered "Those bastards!" was inaudible in the fray. He watched first the Lombard knights and then the entire band of Pecheneg turn and ride away. He scowled, wondering if Count Raymond was with them, but had to pull his attention away to meet a slashing blow from a Danishmend sword.

The riders guided Elisabeth and Gauner into the melee on either side of her. As they charged forward her lance buried itself in a surprised-looking archer who was lifted from his saddle and then lost from sight as Gauner kicked, crippled, and ran over his horse, leaping over it to land on the fallen rider and splatter him into the dust. A spear point came at her out of the swirling dust and she knocked it aside with her shield as she dropped the reins over the pommel and let Gauner's training carry him forward. The lance was ripped from her hands by the falling Turkish horse. She drew her sword and swung it up into the face of the Turk on her right, knocking him off his horse. She swung it back over Gauner's outstretched neck to slice halfway through the spearman's head as they passed.

The line of knights continued their charge through the horde of light Turkish horse archers like a hot knife through butter, closely followed by the second line of knights who filled the gaps in front of them as those in the first row fell or separated. The German horses all fought like Gauner as they had been taught to crush through opposing horses and men. A thousand Turkish archers were in the mob trapped between the crusaders on the hill and Conrad's charging well -ordered knights. Footmen who ran behind to finish off the fallen enemy and rescue fallen comrades followed these knights.

Elisabeth and Gauner flowed into the melee like a leaf in a millrace into a pond. She found herself reeling in different directions as Gauner did his job and attacked the smaller horses of the archers. His massive hooves and his awesome strength were enough to knock the smaller horses clean over, sending their less well-armored riders off and onto the ground where he stomped them to death. Some of the horses now without riders were too sorely injured to rise, but others struggled to their feet, stumbling as others bumped into them, and finally made for the relative peace of the perimeter.

Elisabeth, her ears ringing, continued to plow through the swirling horsemen. From her left a screaming man on horseback rushed at her circling his sword over his head to give it momentum. At the last moment his slashed it down toward her neck. She raised her shield in time to take the blow on its metal-reinforced rim but at a bad angle that wrenched her shoulder back. She held tight. The twisting of her body whipped her sword arm around, and she smacked the horseman with the flat of her sword as he and his mount slid past her. Someone else caught the attention of the man who had attacked her, and unable to stop and rub his own painful sword arm, he was off on defense before she could make another move against him.

There was one more horseman between her and the friendly forces on the hill. The momentum of her charge was gone with the trampling of a half dozen enemy and skewering of several spearmen. She kicked Gauner forward to the left of the final foe and swung her sword up between the horses toward his chin. He met her sword with his own, easily knocking it aside. They circled hammering each other's swords oblivious of the battle swirling around them. Elisabeth feared for her life, as the archer had developed shoulders and arms from using the small curved bow of the Turks. The man slashed downward just missing Elisabeth's nose and buried his blade in the pommel of her saddle. As he yanked to get it free, she gritted and bared her teeth, her hair and face streaming with sweat and blood. She delivered a thrust to his armpit that produced a blood curdling shriek from the man that she could hear even over the clamor of battle.

Elisabeth looked about for the next challenge and turned back to the fight instead of riding toward the safety of the friendly lines on the hill. She could feel she was trembling all over, as much from the effort as from fear. She wished she had a hand free to grab her water skin and wet her dry mouth, but a man on foot was coming at her with a spear. She leaned to one side of his thrust and grabbed its shaft just behind the point and jerked the weapon out of the man's hands. She enjoyed his startled look just before she whacked him on the side of the head with the haft. He staggered back while she reversed the spear and thrust it into his chest. She left the spear protruding from him where he fell amid the horses' hooves.

Suddenly the press of the melee eased. Many of the Danishmend archers had wheeled and were riding away. She found herself watching the mercenary Ragnar rush after one turning archer. He caught the man from behind but struck only armor on his back with his sword. The man turned in his saddle, a scream of rage on his lips, and he turned his mount so he could meet Ragnar's next blow. It was then that Elisabeth realized she had recognized the Dane because he had lost his helm. With horror she saw the archer bring down his blade, deflect it from Ragnar's own, then sweep around to be embedded in the Dane's neck, cutting deep. Elisabeth knew she must be mistaken, for she had thought she saw a look of sheer joy on the Dane's lips just as the sword took him.

She had no time to look about for Ranulf to see if he had seen Ragnar's death, for now she was set upon by two men who drove their mounts on either side of Gauner. Again, Elisabeth knew she must be losing her mind, because she could have sworn she heard Gauner chuckle. He kicked out first with the legs on one side and then the other. The first horse screamed as his leg broke. The archer riding it flew off and away. The second horse was struck in the head, fell forward, pitching the rider with the velocity of a slung stone.

Elisabeth had heard of the battle joy and wondered if it was a peculiarly male thing, but now she learned that the savagery knew no barriers. After initial panic, which she mastered, came the rote response of her training and finally as the chaos built the joy came. She screamed herself hoarse, dealt and received blows, not tiring, not feeling pain, melding with Gauner as a single entity, a killing entity. The madness must have truncated time for her, for all at once she realized the light was failing and the Turks were riding away. She heard her own breath, raspy and gasping. Her arm ached from wielding her sword, nevertheless it twitched to find another Turk to slice into.

The Turkish archers were melting away fast. Finally, with combat more suited to the European knights' training, their superior armor, weapons, and in this context, mounts, could prevail. Elisabeth found herself and Gauner standing amid corpses of men and horses, stunned and unable to comprehend the horror. A stray thread about wishing Albrecht had fought beside her wound through her sluggish mind.

The rest of the pilgrims had not seen hand-to-hand combat, but only faced more of the relentless onslaught of arrows.

Somehow Conrad and his men made their way to where the remaining three commanders faced the onslaught of arrows. Elisabeth had no memory of how they had gotten through the rush of Danishmend and Turks, but could only register that she sat on her horse several feet away as Raymond greeted Conrad with evident joy.

Elisabeth became aware first of the sound of cheering. She sat astride her battle horse fairly quivering with adrenaline, wondering what the sound was and who was making it. Her vision seemed to have acquired a bluish filter, and her focus narrowed. She did not hear or see when the mercenary captain Ranulf came alongside her and spoke her name, Elias, over and over.

"Elias!" he said again, reaching to tug her arm but also ready to draw back if her sword came around at him. She slowly turned and looked at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and she was covered with blood, hers and Turks', and maybe even some of her own men's.

"Ranulf?" she said weakly. Her voice to herself sounded like it came from a mile away.

"Come with me. Let's get you looked at."

"No!" she said automatically. "Don't look!"

He dismounted and came to Gauner's head. Taking both sets of reins from her hands, he said in a calm voice, "It is all right, Elias. Let's just go over here and see if there is any water."

"Water." She let him take the reins and lead her and his own horse to the spring at the base of the hill. He reached up to help her dismount. She flinched automatically. "I can do it."

She dismounted. He led the horses to the water while she went to a garden wall of natural stones and, putting her back to it, slid down until her arse was on the ground. She took off her helm. To her utter dismay she burst out weeping. It came in great gulping sobs. She was close to hysteria.

Ranulf let her cry for a few minutes, then, kneeling before her, he took her shoulders and shook her violently.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she shot at him, coming at last to herself.

"Just bringing you back to the miserable present." He let himself fall beside her to sit almost shoulder to shoulder.

"Oh my God, I was weeping like a woman," Elisabeth howled after a brief pause.

Ranulf said sharply, "Shut up, Elias. It's what happens. This is your first all-out battle. Everyone weeps after their first. The noise, the fear, the smells, the chaos . . . then the fever. You can't stop it."

She stared at him uncomprehending, then looked back out onto the body-littered plain and asked, "The fever? I had the fever."

Ranulf put his face in his hands. "That you did. I had my own hands full, but when I happened to look over where you were, you were slashing all around you, taking down Turks."

She looked hard at him. "I was? I did?" She wondered why she felt so hollow.

"The look on your face! Like some sort of demon. If I ever thought you looked girlish, I don't now."

She could not register the meaning.

A young boy from the encampment brought water around in a bucket. He had a big spoon, like a ladle, and gave each man one drink, then went on to the next man. He could not let them have any more. Besides being in short supply, the water would do no man any good to overindulge. Most were in some stage of shock.

The small drink certainly did Elisabeth good. She was able now to form coherent thoughts and turned to Ranulf, who still sat with his face in his hands. "Who won?"

He looked at her, incredulous. "Won?" he asked. "Nobody won. We just held out longer than they did. For now."

"What happened?" she pursued.

"They just up and rode away. Like all the other times." His face was so haggard he almost did not look like himself. "Ragnar is dead."

"I know. I saw him die. He had a smile on his lips."

Ranulf made a derisive snort. "He would, God love him." He reached into his leather brigandine and drew out Ruggiero's ring. "I guess I will have to take this now."

"Any news of Thomas . . . and Albrecht?"

"Yes and no," he said. "I don't know about Albrecht. I saw Thomas among the crossbowmen in the hill, but never spoke to him. Never even got a chance to wish him Godspeed."

Her eyes rested rather vacantly on the captain. "Never . . . spoke to him. Never."

"Yes, Thomas is dead now too. It's just me now."

"Oh Ranulf," she moaned.

"They came here to support me, to help me expiate my guilt. Now they are dead, but I am still alive. Tell me," he said, looking into her face in anguish, "What sense does that make?"

She had no answer. She looked away, put her head back against the wall, and closed her eyes.

The world became nothing more than the constant heat, body aches, thirst and noise. The sounds were no longer of clashing metal and battle cries. Now all she could hear was weeping, moans, cries and prayers of the wounded and dying.

Elisabeth drifted out of consciousness and into a dream. She was walking with Elias and Albrecht through a meadow filled with tiny white and yellow flowers. She ran toward the top of the hill and spun to call to the boys. They were not there. She was alone. A snort drew her attention to where Gauner stood, lathered with the yellow white foam of sweat, breathing heavily and splashed with blood. "Oh Gauner," she sighed. Somewhere cattle were lowing and a bird sang.

Chapter Sixteen ~ Dishonor

As the sun was setting and the sudden chill invaded clothing soaked with sweat, Elisabeth toured the camp. She was numb from the horrors and exhilarations of the day her sorrow over Albrecht's likely death was undifferentiated. It was just part of the dull ache in her chest. She cast her eyes about as she passed clumps of men. She heard her name, or rather her brother's, and turned to find Black Beast dragging himself up off his haunches to approach her.

"Elias, my God, you are still alive!" the big man cried. He slapped his hands down hard on Elisabeth's shoulders. He had a manic grin on his face. "I can't believe it! Have you seen Gerhardt?"

She stared at him. "No, I haven't. The only one I could find was the mercenary captain. Ranulf. The Dane is dead. So is Thomas the crossbowman. You?"

Black Beast's grin disappeared. "I hoped you had seen Gerhardt. Alain and I have been looking all over for him." He paused, "My squire is over there, but Alain's is gone and we haven't seen Gerhardt's. At least yours is alive, after a fashion."

Elisabeth grasped his arm with a sudden death grip. "Albrecht? Is alive?"

"Your squire is in Conrad's encampment. He made it back here but is pretty badly wounded." He watched as the young knight hurried away.

Elisabeth tore through the tangle of men and animals to where she knew the Constable would be. There was a tent set up quite near the command tent of the Holy Roman Emperor's faction. She slipped in through the open flap and stood waiting for her eyes to adjust. She called, "Albrecht?" softly.

"I am here," the familiar voice called back from her left. She made her way there, stepping over prone men who moaned or prayed or both. She found herself at her squire's side. She was so relieved she threw her arms around him. She remembered herself just before she leaned to kiss his cheek. Glancing around she saw puzzled looks and a leering man with a broken arm.

"What happened?" she asked rather inanely.

Albrecht gestured to her water bottle. As she pulled out the bung he began, "It was just as we were making our escape from the Danishmend camp. Thomas found and stole a horse. I got up behind him, and as we headed toward this place I felt something whack my thigh hard. I knew it was an arrow. I just did not know if it was poisoned." Her look made him rush to add, "It doesn't seem like it was. Funny, I did not feel any pain. Just all of a sudden I could not sit upright. I held onto Thomas as we rode away." He tried to grasp her arm. "I can't believe you are still alive, Elisa-Elias." He took a long draught of the water and replaced the bung.

"Is . . . is your wound mortal?" She gestured to the blood-soaked bandage on his leg.

"No, I think I just lost a lot of blood. I am starting to feel like I will make it. I hope so anyway. I have something to live for now."

She formed the word "Andronikos" without voicing the name.

Albrecht nodded. "What about you? Are you wounded?" he prodded.

"Uh, yes, some bad cuts and lots of bruises." She shrugged. "Albrecht, I had it. The battle fever. I just went mad and killed everything I could reach. I hope I did not kill any of our own men."

He squeezed her arm. "What about the others?"

"Ragnar is dead. Ranulf is alive. Thomas is dead."

Albrecht's face screwed up in a spasm of pain. When he got his voice back, he groaned, "Oh no, God bless him. He saved my life. He must have joined the fight after he got us back here." He looked at her. "That just leaves Ranulf. Is he all right?"

Elisabeth shrugged. "In body, I think so. In spirit, not at all. I just met Black Beast in the camp. He and Alain made it. And the Beast's squire, but Alain's is missing and so are Gerhardt and his squire."

The man beside him had finally gotten Elisabeth's notice. She turned back from giving the man, who was clearly dying, a drink from her water bottle.

"What now?" Albrecht asked.

"More fighting tomorrow, I suppose. Until we are all dead." She sighed.

The long, hot, exhausting day left the bulk of the pilgrim army unable to do much more than collapse where they stood, to sleep deeply with troubled dreams as the night folded over them. Somewhere in the dark a child fussed. Men who were bruised or wounded by the Turkish arrows moaned. The sound of weeping came from a few women in the camp, women whose men lay out on the plain unclaimed and unburied.

Neither Elisabeth nor Ranulf could sleep. As they sat together on the ground, he spoke his own thoughts to her. He saw over and over in his mind Ragnar's death, saw the grin on the Dane's face as the Turk's weapon came down and destroyed him.

"I told you Thomas is dead. I could not see how it could be otherwise. I went to find him among the wounded being treated by what healers they had, but had no luck. He was also not among the known dead. He was nowhere to be found, probably out there on the strip of battlefield the Turks hold now, lying in his own blood."

He went on almost absently to describe how Ruggiero's body lay leagues and leagues away, picked clean to the bones by carrion birds and animals.

Elisabeth could guess what went through his head once he fell silent. Ranulf was alone. Well and truly alone. The reason to go on seemed like a gossamer thread now. What matter that he had broken his promise to the woman in Mainz. His guilt, his desire for redemption meant three good men, his friends, were dead. She could see that he fingered the ring, Ruggiero's ring, in his pouch. She hoped he would try to stay alive at least long enough to get it to the Italian's widow.

She became aware that off to one side of the camp men were stirring. Ranulf looked distractedly in that direction, but it was dark and what fires there were lay between them and the sounds. Most likely some knights and perhaps even one of the leaders were deserting. After the desertions of the day before, the fact that other knights and soldiers might find the cover of dark convenient to slip away did not surprise either of them. Aloud, she idly wondered who it was. They could hear horses being saddled. Sometime after, men mounted these horses and rode off to the north. It was not a large force, perhaps two or three dozen men, all mounted, and the two lost interest. Her own complete lack of desire to desert and leave her comrades' bodies behind preoccupied her.

Dozing, propped up on their saddles, they woke at the sounds of angry voices. It was just before dawn, she gauged by the light to the east. They listened to the growing tumult of shouts. There was disbelief in them, outrage. Elisabeth watched Ranulf as he stretched, dragged himself to his feet, relieved himself where he stood, and, picking up his helm, walked toward the gathering crowd with it under his arm. She tried to keep her eye on him, but her head was full of mush. She pieced together what she could observe with difficulty.

The people encircled the area where Ranulf remembered one of the noble leaders of the pilgrimage had his tent. The people standing between him and the tent were shaking their fists in the air, arguing with each other in clumps, shouting abuse and obscenities. When Stephen of Blois and the Count of Burgundy came up, Ranulf took advantage of the crowd parting to follow them.

In the space before the tent, which Ranulf now recalled belonged to the supreme leader of the pilgrimage, Count Raymond of Toulouse, the two Stephens entered the circle of angry faces to find their worst suspicions confirmed. Raymond and all of his Provençal knights, gone. The tent was still there. When Blois walked to it and pulled aside the entry flap, Ranulf could see that the furnishings remained, the camp bed, the carpets, a couple chests, but there was no sign of the great hero of Antioch.

"Abandoned!" a high-ranking cleric screamed, shaking his fist in the Duke of Burgundy's face. He proceeded to drown the man with invective laced with ecclesiastical threats and condemnation. Stephen winced and turned away without attempting to respond.

Blois came back to him from the flap of the tent. He went to the Count's side, both their backs to the cleric. They spoke agitatedly for a while, too far from Ranulf for him to hear their words. Ranulf glanced over at Odo, who immediately began arguing with the cleric, whose face was still pale but rigid as a stone carving. As Ranulf watched his face began to soften, his lips, cheeks and eyes to droop. Finally he slumped visibly and nodded at the Count of Burgundy. He realized what they were discussing and shivered.

As he left the mass of people, he saw Conrad making his way in.

By midmorning the camp was in an uproar. Knights from all factions packed up their gear and prepared to leave. Ranulf found Elisabeth with Albrecht.

As soon as she saw him, she dashed to him. "We are retreating!" she called, her voice a mix of disbelief and guilty relief. "Will the Turks let us go?"

Ranulf did not reply. Instead he walked to where Albrecht was sitting up and gazed long and dourly at him.

"Well?" Elisabeth demanded.

He remained silent. His eyes swept the camp. The noncombatants were as busy packing up as the knights and the infantry. His look was speculative.

Elisabeth grew quiet, watching and then following his eyes. "Oh God, you aren't thinking . . . " Her voice trailed off in horror.

He nodded. "I am afraid so."

Elisabeth's voice sounded like a young boy's, almost like a woman's. "What do we do?"

"What is there to do?" he asked softly after a short silence.

She looked about, then down at Albrecht. Finally she looked at the people in the camp, the women, children, old men and old women, and the wounded. Again she voiced the question she had asked him. "Will the Turks let us go?" This time it was not a demand. This time it was spoken without a spark of hope.

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "They will just be glad to see the back of us. They will let us go," he said with all the certainty he did not feel. He bowed his head. "Has Conrad said anything about his plans?"

"I don't know. I've been here all morning, and no one has come in here to tell us what is going on." She looked at Albrecht, deep lines of worry etching her features.

Ranulf leaned and slapped Albrecht on his arm. "I had better go get my horse ready. Shall we try to meet here before we set out? I have no place with any of the armies anymore. And I know you two will want to leave together."

"Here is a good place. I will get the horses ready and come back. I want to help these families prepare to leave."

Ranulf nodded sadly, "I will as well."

A short distance away the Turks and Danishmend were preparing for whatever the day would bring. At first the preparations for departure looked no different from preparations for battle, but as it became apparent the pilgrims were getting ready to retreat, the sound of cheers broke out all up and down the camp. They expected to win this day, but the ease of it and the chance for plunder becoming certain made Seljuk and ally hearts sing.

Leading Gauner carefully through the emptying soldiers' camp Elisabeth, who could not find Albrecht's horse, Carlchen, saw the beginning of the exodus. She frowned as she saw Stephen of Blois set out north with his household knights and noble clerics ensconced in their midst. "Not even a benediction," she thought.

Only a little while later as she helped an old woman strap her meager belongings to a sumpter mule she saw Stephen and Odo of Burgundy and their parties ride off after them. The infantry was still preparing to leave. Men came among their families to help them. She had not seen Conrad yet.

"Elias!" a voice called from behind her. She whirled to see Black Beast hurrying through the milling crowd of camp followers. "Conrad says to get back to our camp. We're heading for the Black Sea."

She stood rigid with the news that Conrad had joined the retreat. She did not blame him. It would be suicide to stay, but some part of her expected him, wanted him to take a more heroic stand than had the Franks, Normans and Italians. She looked into the big man's face. "I'm staying with these people, the wounded. They need our help."

The Beast scowled at her. "These would not be the first wounded to be left behind. How does it serve to damn ourselves along with them?"

A spark in her eye accompanied her words. "It seems to me that not helping them is what will damn us."

He flinched. In a quieter voice he told her, "Gerhardt is dead. Alain already left with the Burgundians."

She looked away, her face contorted. "How did Gerhardt die?"

"I found out that he took a wound as we rode back from that pitiful little village. He never even got to fight. He died after we got here. I am surprised you did not know. I suppose you were with those mercenaries."

She lifted her chin. "You mean my friends. Yes, but now all of them but their captain are dead as well."

He stared at her from under his bushy black eyebrows. He reached out his hand. "And soon you will be as well, young Elias. It has been an honor to be your comrade, if not one of your friends."

She felt the feminine impulse to soothe him, to reassure him she was his friend, but she steeled herself. She reached out and they stood, clasping each other's hands, looking directly into each other's eyes. Each stepped back and made a sharp salute. Black Beast gave her one last look of regret and spun and walked away.

"What are you doing, Elisabeth?" Albrecht, who stood unevenly at her side, asked.

She shot him a glare. "That's 'my lord,' if you please."

Albrecht took an involuntary step backward. He was about to say something else when they both heard the ululating battle cries of the Seljuk.

The crowd of noncombatants started to scream. Some began to look desperately for somewhere to run. The fighting men who had come back to their families seemed unable to decide whether to get back to their positions or to stay and try to protect them. Children, separated from their parents in the sudden panic, stood and wailed.

"Dear God in Heaven," she breathed. "They are attacking. Quick, get up on Gauner. I will mount behind you."

"No! Take my horse!" Ranulf came up to them as quickly as he could make his way through the panicking crowds.

"You need your horse!" she screamed back.

"No, I am staying to guard the rear. There are plenty of horses without riders. I can get one." He spun and picked up a woman holding a small child and hoisted them both to his saddle. "If you take my horse now you and Albrecht can help a few of these people to escape."

The woman, terrified, twisted out of his arms as she landed atop the horse, slid off the other side and ran screaming away from them. He growled but urged Elisabeth to mount Gauner, then helped Albrecht onto his own horse. Going back to Elisabeth he reached into the front of his brigandine and drew out a small sack. He handed it to her once she was in the saddle. "This is Ruggiero's ring. I don't have anything from Ragnar or Thomas. But there's gold in the purse too. Give it to some church for masses for Rachel's soul. But don't tell them she was a Jew."

"Get up behind me, Ranulf. Gauner can carry us both."

"No, you need to be free to use your weapons. If you can save someone, good, but I need to stay and protect these people." He slapped Gauner's rump, turned and ran away.

Gauner danced around in a circle reacting to the slap. As she looked at his retreating back she lifted her eyes. "Oh my God!"

The Turks were hurtling toward the camp. The men-at-arms had gone, though as she looked over she could see the rear of their lines heading north. She realized that the people in the camp had no hope. They would be cut down to a person. "Albrecht, let's go!" she screamed as she hunted for someone to rescue. A wounded soldier limped to her. "Albrecht, take this man on your horse!" she shouted as she kicked Gauner to the woman who had fled Ranulf. The woman now understood and let herself be pulled up behind Elisabeth. The Knight of Winterkirche led the way in the direction of the infantry, allowing herself one glance over her shoulder. She saw Ranulf standing facing the onslaught of Turks, his sword raised to meet them. She could not watch what she was sure happened next.

The Paynim forces rode into the camp, taking time to butcher all the men and the old women as they tore through it. Elisabeth and her companions did not see it, but they could hear the screams and cries, the triumphant shouts of the enemy. A number of mounted men corralled and restrained all the remaining women and children. Old women and men were useless, more trouble than they were worth, but the women and children would fetch good prices in the slave markets. Some of the women would wind up as concubines or even wives of Seljuk and Danishmend commanders.

As Elisabeth and Albrecht with their burdens tore around the infantry to try to regain the mounted Germans, those enemy horsemen not preoccupied with the spoils of the camp pursued the Christian foot soldiers. These men, with no better means to escape then their own weary legs, started to drop everything they were carrying. From helms to armor to weapons and finally to their valuables and prizes, they abandoned anything they thought would slow them down. All of it was left behind to enrich the Turks. What they did not drop did as well anyway, as the enemy caught up and cut down everyone they could catch. The screams of fury and pain matched the volume of the shouts of triumph and bloodthirsty glee.

Of the thousands who arrived in Byzantium, mostly knights escaped. The infantry, the camp followers and the common clerics were slaughtered or carried off to become slaves. The total survivors could not have numbered much more than six score, mostly nobles and their households. Among them the only peasants were the few that knights like Elisabeth and her squire took pity on.

While Saint Gilles and his party found a ship at the Byzantine port of Bafra that would take them fairly quickly to Constantinople, the rest of the leaders with the few who survived in their parties fought their way across the Halys and then headed north to the town of Sinope. There they turned west along the coastal road toward the Sublime Port.

Once beyond the immediate threat of the pursuit, Elisabeth and Albrecht rode silently. The wounded man he had taken onto his horse located friends and went to travel with them. The woman who had the small child reached around Albrecht to try to help him, as his thigh wound was bleeding and extremely painful. Elisabeth rode alone. She thought of Ranulf, of Thomas, Ragnar and Ruggiero and the knight, Gerhardt. She wondered if Black Beast and Alain had made it out alive. She thought of the golden city ahead and of her sweet Maliha. She wondered how the Emperor would receive them, their pilgrimage collapsed in total disaster, and what's more, dishonor. She let the tears fall as they might. In her mind's eye was a plain littered with hundreds, even thousands of the dead, soldiers, knights, clerics, peasants, and a few noble mercenaries.

Chapter Seventeen ~ In a Lover's Arms

In her famous account, The Alexiad, the Emperor's daughter, Anna Comnena, would record Saint Gilles's return to Constantinople and his reception by the Emperor, who she said held great affection for the Count of Toulouse.

As for Saint Gilles and Tzitas, they made their way to Constantinople with a few surviving knights. The Emperor received them there and after presenting generous gifts of money and allowing them to rest, he asked them where they would like to go for the future. They chose Jerusalem. He lavished more presents on them, and sent them off by sea, just as they had wanted. Saint Gilles left Constantinople also, to join his own army at Tripolis, which he was anxiously seeking to capture. (Book XI, Page 320)

In late September of 1101 what was left of the pilgrims crossed the Bosporus and limped into the city of Constantinople. The leaders found at Raymond's villa that his door was not open to them. Further, the Basileus was far too busy to grant any of them an audience.

Once within the walls of the city, Albrecht and Elisabeth split from the main body of knights and followed familiar streets to the villa of Andronikos Comnenus. They found the entire household waiting within the courtyard. When Andronikos saw Albrecht slumped in his saddle, feverish, he cried out in alarm, and directed servants to help the squire down and carry him to his own massive chambers.

Elisabeth saw none of this, for next to Andronikos stood a young woman with honey-colored eyes holding a small boy. Tacetin wriggled out of his mother's arms and pushed his way through the servants to dash to Elisabeth. "Elli!" he cried.

Elisabeth, who had quickly dismounted, knelt in the courtyard with her arms wide, folding the child in them when he threw himself against her chest. She felt moisture on the boy's dark curls and realized it came from her own tears. She took his head between her hands and kissed his face repeatedly.

"Elisabeth," a velvety voice said quietly. She looked up into Maliha's precious eyes. Stiffly she dragged herself to a standing position and reached to take her lover in her arms. Maliha leaned into her, laid her cheek on Elisabeth's shoulder, and Elisabeth held her tight, savoring the feel and scent of her. When they looked again into each other's faces, each was wet with tears. They tilted their faces to each other and their lips met and held in a long kiss.

Like any soldier who returns from the horror of war, Elisabeth had no interest in delaying time alone with her beloved. She followed Maliha to their shared chamber. She saw immediately that Maliha had been living in it. She waited as Maliha asked his nurse to take Tacetin. When they were alone, she took Maliha's face in her hands gently and asked, "He has a nurse now?"

Honey eyes sparkled into hers. "Master has been most generous. There is so much to tell. So much to ask . . . " Elisabeth's lips cut off her words, hard and hungry on hers. Maliha noticed how dry and cracked they were. She relaxed in the pilgrim knight's embrace. She felt her start to move them both to the bed. When the side of the bed hit the back of her knees, she went limp, letting Elisabeth take her weight and lower her gently onto the bed. She pulled her legs up to lie flat, and felt the delicious weight of the woman atop her.

Elisabeth groaned and got to her knees next to Maliha's form. "I have not bathed in months," she sighed, pulling her gorget off, then her mail shirt up to wriggle out of it.

Maliha shared the task by unlacing the mail britches and pushing them down. "I want you however you are, my love."

Elisabeth knelt over her, eyes again brimming with tears. "It was horrible, so horrible I want to forget it."

"Let me help you try," the dark-haired woman begged.

Elisabeth sank down on top of her, pressed her lips to her throat and lost herself in the healing warmth of making love to Maliha.

Later while servants carried in the tub and hot water, the steward came to the door and bowed. "My master asks if the ladies would be so kind as to join him for a light meal this evening in his chambers."

Maliha glanced at Elisabeth and saw the surprise in her eyes. The German woman mouthed, "Ladies?" and Maliha gave her a mischievous grin.

"Lady Elisabeth and I would very much like that," she said to the servant, who bowed and backed out of the chamber.

"Did you tell him, my sweet one?" Elisabeth asked.

Maliha helped her slip the robe off her shoulders, tut-tutted at bruises and abrasions on her arms and back, and helped her into the tub.

"Get in with me," Elisabeth asked.

Maliha stripped her own robe off and as she put one leg and then the other into the tub she said, "No, I wanted to, but I thought it best to wait to ask you what you wanted." She settled between Elisabeth's legs, her back against her breasts. Elisabeth put her arms around her and began to stroke Maliha's full breasts, now soapy and oily, and to tweak her nipples. Maliha wriggled with pleasure. She reached up to pull Elisabeth's head down for a soul-searching kiss.

"Then who told him?" Elisabeth spoke into her ear.

"There was a man who came with another party of pilgrims, oh, yes, there, that is delicious." She sighed deeply while her lover's lips and tongue explored her neck and ear. "I can't tell you about it if you keep doing that."

"Do you want me to stop?" Elisabeth said, not stopping.

"No," Maliha moaned and twisted in the tub so that she lay on her side in Elisabeth's arms. She presented her lips for more kisses. Their tongues reached into each other's mouths to play together.

After making love in the bath, they fell deeply asleep in each other's arms, while the sounds of servants quietly removing the bath and cleaning up the water that splashed everywhere did not register on them at all.

Elisabeth found two sets of clothing set out by the servants when they awoke from their contented nap. She lifted the dress and held it to Maliha. "This is yours."

Maliha shook her head. "They are both yours, my love. Andronikos is giving you the choice."

"To wear men's or women's clothes?" she asked sardonically.

"No, to choose how you, a woman, wish to dress."

Elisabeth looked at her wonderingly, smiled and chose the britches, tunic and coat. Before they went out the door, she strapped on her sword belt. She put a palm on the small of Maliha's back and led her to Andronikos's rooms.

Ushered all the way into Andronikos's private bedchamber, the two women saw that Albrecht was installed in the master's bed, a physician putting the final touches on a bandage on his leg. The aroma of salves and poultices tinged the air already redolent with the spices used in food. Albrecht smiled sheepishly from where he sat propped up on silken pillows. Andronikos sat on the bed holding the man's hand. He looked up as his guests entered. "My ladies, welcome! I thank you for agreeing to have dinner with us."

Elisabeth, with a fond glance at her squire, bowed graciously, "It is generous of you, my lord. It seems I have much to be grateful to you for." She glanced at Maliha. "You have taken good care of my family."

Maliha's face shot to hers, her lips forming a tiny O. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Elli," she sighed.

Andronikos beamed at them both. He looked over at Albrecht, whose loving face moved between him and the women.

Elisabeth took Maliha's hand. "Come meet Albrecht more formally," she invited. She led Maliha to the bed, where she sat on the edge and drew her beloved to sit on her other side. "Albrecht, my friend, this is my darling Maliha. We have a son, Tacetin."

The squire laughed. "I've met Tacetin. He came to show me his kitten."

Maliha laughed delightedly. "Papaki?"

"Yes, that means duckling, though why he named a kitten after a duck I don't know."

Andronikos sat on the other side of the bed and held Albrecht's hand, massaging its back with his thumb. "I can tell you that," he smiled. "Tacetin remembered your shield with the upside-down duck. He noticed how the kitten liked to lie on its back and play with his fingers."

"How is your wound?" Elisabeth asked after she stopped laughing.

Andronikos replied for him, "Now that he had the loving care he needs, it will be well. I shall see to that myself." He leaned in and shared a light kiss with Albrecht.

The servants brought in low tables and placed them near the bed. "I do not want my Albertos to feel left out, so if you do not mind, we shall sup at his bedside," he explained.

Over their supper Andronikos brought Elisabeth up on what had transpired while the pilgrims were gone. "You had hardly left Nicomedia when another party of pilgrims arrived from Nevers."

"Count William?" she asked, looking up from picking a delicacy from a polished teak tray.

He nodded, "Just as we were clearing up the mess in the city from your lot." He winked at Albrecht, whom he fed from his own fingers. "When the Nivenais came in such spectacular order, the city wished they have arrived first. They did not linger, anxious to join your Stephen of Burgundy and the rest of you and set out immediately for Ancyra."

"So the news had reached you of our conquest?"

Andronikos hid a wry smile behind his hand. "Of an unguarded stronghold?"

She frowned. "There was battle. I was in it."

Maliha gave a small cry and touched her arm. She patted it and murmured reassurances.

"She got her first kill in battle then," Albrecht put in. "Gods, but it's hard to get used to saying 'she' again."

"Do not get in the habit, my friend. I shall have to go back to being Elias soon." Her face was grim.

Maliha squeezed her arm. "Why? Can you not stay here?"

"I made a pledge. For my father's and Elias's sake. To pray at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. And to free the Holy Land from the Paynim." She froze, and looked at Maliha. "I am sorry. I do not mean you."

Andronikos looked from hers to Maliha's face. "I should think you would have had enough of fighting for pilgrims like Toulouse, Blois and the others, all such true Christians."

Her brows furrowed with the pain of sudden biting memories. "I still have to go to Jerusalem. I have to learn what happened to my father. Then I have . . . nowhere to go."

Andronikos cleared his throat. "I was hoping you would stay and be the captain of my personal guard."

Elisabeth looked up sharply. "You have no guard, my lord."

"I think it is high time I got one. And it would suit my sense of the dramatic to have one with a woman as their captain. The Basileus has his Verangians. I will have my Amazon."

"Master says we will go to Jerusalem later, when all this fighting has died down. On his ship," Maliha urged hopefully.

Elisabeth looked at Andronikos, then back at Maliha. She put her arm around the woman's shoulders and squeezed. "So I could live as I am, a woman, but a knight? What about Albrecht? Will he still be my squire? Would you want to squire a woman?" She looked up at his face.

Before Albrecht could answer, Andronikos said, "Albertos need never fight or wield a sword again. He will be my beloved companion for as long as he wants to be. He may do whatever he wishes in the world. I shall see to that."

The two men locked eyes. Albrecht's were full of wonder. "You love me that much?" he said hoarsely.

Andronikos gazed back. "With all my heart and soul." They continued to gaze.

"Oh Andronikos, ich liebe dich," Albrecht breathed in German. "I did not know I could love again, but I do."

The Greek eunuch did not need a translation.

Sharing a soft kiss of their own, Elisabeth asked Maliha, "Was the man you spoke of with the Nivenais? I do not understand. How would he know I was a woman?"

"No, he came with the last party. A fellow named . . . was it Hans?"

Andronikos nodded in response to her quizzical look.

"Hans!" Elisabeth and her former squire said together.

"How did he come to be here? If it is the same man, we left him in Bavaria."

Andronikos supplied the information. "He was my guest here, as squire to one of the lords traveling with Welf. That is your king, is it not? Or Duke?"

Blood draining from her face, Elisabeth asked, "That lord was not named Reinhardt by any chance, was he?"

Andronikos shook his head. "No, it was another Conrad. But he told us about Reinhardt. And he told us . . . about you."

Maliha chuckled. "Not quite the same story you would tell us, my love."

Albrecht laughed suddenly from the bed. "No, I should not think so! He thought Elisabeth and I were lovers running off together." He looked at the eunuch. "I am so glad that I . . . well . . . we . . . " He stopped, smiled sheepishly, and went on. "I am glad you had reason to doubt that I should prefer a woman, my lord."

"But how did you know that the woman Albrecht left with was the knight he arrived with?" Elisabeth pursued.

"We kept our mouths shut and our ears open. Sooner or later he mentioned your brother, Elias, of his passing, of the missing armor."

She laughed. "He probably did not mention the missing gold."

Maliha and her master exchanged looks. "He said you promised him treasure, but when he went to get it, your Reinhardt followed him and claimed it for his own."

She shuddered. "Please do not call him 'my Reinhardt.' Well, I am sorry. If he is still in Byzantium, I will try to make it up to him."

Andronikos shook his head. "He is gone. He was with Welf, as I said, as well as a most charming man, a troubadour of some renown, Duke William of Aquitaine. What a talented lot the nobles of that land are. And a most extraordinary woman, Ida, the Dowager Margravina of Austria."

Elisabeth sat up so quickly she knocked her goblet of wine from its perch on her knee. "Ida? She was here?"

Maliha looked concerned and leaned to mop at the dark red liquid soaking into the covers of the bed. "Do you know her?"

"An extraordinarily beautiful woman." Andronikos added, "if you go in for that sort of thing." He winked at Albrecht. But as quickly he shot his attention to Elisabeth. She had stood and was stepping around the low table. "What is amiss?"

Elisabeth cried as she darted out of the chamber, "Ida. She and her party are almost certainly headed into disaster! I have to stop them!"

It felt strange riding alone along the roads to Ancyra she had traversed months ago with the entire pilgrim force. It chilled her to think that only a handful, no more than six score, of the men, women and children who had marched, laughed, argued, sung, complained, and breathed would ever see their homelands again.

At her first stop to beg water and fodder for Gauner she learned from wary villagers that not only had the Nivenais force passed through, taking what little food the natives of the region had left, but had passed through again heading back the same direction. The peasants did not know why or where they had gone. She knew she must retrace her steps and learn where they had turned off. The only thing she was confident about was that they had not returned to Constantinople or even Nicomedia. She would have intercepted them if they had.

She quizzed the peasants and the people further and learned that no second group had passed through the village. So Ida's party clearly had learned what she had not and followed the Nivenais along the same course. If she had stopped sooner for provender, she would not have wasted time in her pursuit.

Retracing her steps back through what was now well within Byzantine territory, she finally learned that the Nivenais had taken the road south to Dorylaeum. The later party had followed. Turning her own mount in the same direction, she worried that the two parties, almost six weeks separated, would make easy targets for the strengthening armies of Kilij Arslan and his now staunch ally, Malik Ghazi. She could only pray they had met somewhere along the way, at Dorylaeum or Konya, and combined forces.

She thought about what Andronikos had told her. The body of pilgrims, which included the Margravina, had arrived in Constantinople not long after the Nivenais left to overtake her own force. The last group had not hurried after them. Petty jealousies played a part in this decision as they had with Raymond, Blois, and the others. William hated Count Raymond of Toulouse, for his duchess was the daughter of Raymond's older brother and should have inherited the county. Duke Welf was a bitter rival of the Holy Roman Emperor and had no wish to ally himself with the Constable of the Emperor, Conrad. So while the Count of Nevers made haste on the journey where he hoped to combine forces with Raymond and his pilgrims, the Aquitainians and Bavarians had rested in the area across the Bosporus from Constantinople and when they left headed to Dorylaeum to make their way south to Syria and Palestine. One party, including a man named Eckhardt who was chronicling the pilgrimage, took ship directly to Palestine.

So, she realized, the Nivenais must have arrived at Ancyra, expecting to be directed to Raymond's location, but no one there knew anything about his whereabouts. Elisabeth thought it was suspicious that Count William did not even learn the direction they had taken only a few weeks before. The Nivenais must have assumed that the first group of pilgrims pursued their original course, south to Konya, so they headed in that direction as well, taking a roundabout path. She could only hope that their backtracking allowed the last group to catch up and combine forces. The last was well equipped, much better than the Nivenais, but neither group could face what Elisabeth had seen. The Seljuk Turk and Danishmend armies were greater still.

She urged Gauner on and on, but finally realized he could not keep up the pace forever. He may be a destrier, a huge stout horse, but his very size could be his downfall if ridden too hard, too fast and too long. Killing her horse would not help her desperate pursuit. She decided to pause in a small village whose church tower she had spied, to rest Gauner and herself and to get whatever tidings she could.

In the small town she found more wary people who only agreed to feed and care for Gauner for the silver she proffered. In her headlong rush to follow Ida, Andronikos had forced on her a small purse that clinked with coins. "I am indebted to you so much already," she protested.

He shook his head. "You brought Albertos. I could never repay you for that."

She accepted the purse, and all along the way she was glad she had had coin to wrest what little information the people could offer.

She tried to ask the man who led Gauner off about the pilgrim armies who should have passed by here. The man would not speak, but simply gestured to the small church in the center of the village.

"What? I know they were Christians. But did they pass here?"

He pointed more insistently. She followed his gaze and shrugged. She could do with a little prayer even if it wasn't in the Latin tradition.

As she approached the church she noticed a man in clothing more like her own than the locals'. She peered through the glare of midday sun. She was startled when a voice called out in German, "Elias? It cannot be! You are dead!"

It was Hans, the man who had helped her and Albrecht escape Reinhardt's clutches. He sat on the step of the church, his right leg straight out in front of him, splinted and bandaged.

"Hans, how did you get here? What happened to you?"

The man cocked his head, recognizing his own dialect of German. He stared into Elisabeth's face, searching it for some explanation. All at once his eyes grew round. "My God, I cannot believe it. It's you. It's the Lady Elisabeth. A knight?" He stared her up and down, then asked, "Do you have any food?"

She sat down next to him and placed her helm on the step on her other side. "I do," she affirmed and untied the leather bag she had at her belt, pulled it open and reached in. She brought out a small packet wrapped in oiled cloth, opened it and offered its contents to Hans. He snatched the whole packet from her hands and started to shove food into his mouth without pausing to identify it.

"Wine?" he said through a full mouth.

"Water," she said simply, "and lucky to have that."

He shrugged. "Water I can get. Although . . . " He looked at her pleading, "not until they get around to me. Can you give me some of yours?"

She pulled the wineskin from her belt and gave it to him. "It's not good water. Probably no better than they have here."

Elisabeth tried to question him while he polished off most of her food. He waved her questions away, indicating that he would eat first. Popping one last morsel into his mouth, he said around it, "I'm with the Duke's army . . . or I was. Duke Welf. Reinhardt tossed me out when . . . " He looked up at her angrily. "Now that reminds me, you were supposed to reward me for . . . "

She put up a hand. "I know all about it. Reinhardt caught you looking for the gold I told you about. I am sorry. I will make it up to you somehow. I promise."

"How do you . . . where did you . . . where is Albrecht?" he finally finished.

"Constantinople. He was wounded at Merzifon."

"Merzifon?" Hans asked.

"You don't know about Merzifon? Well, I suppose you wouldn't. Never mind. What happened to you?" She indicated his leg.

Hans looked down at it. "My horse fell on me. They had to leave me here, God rot them." He looked back at her. "Reinhardt was just as glad when you disappeared. He was your husband and that meant the estates were his free and clear. Everyone assumed you and Albrecht had gone away to stay. He had men looking for you for some time, secretly, so he could kill you both and make sure you did not suddenly turn up. He was suspicious of me, so he did not send me. He did find something out, though. One of his men came back from the Danube with some news that made him laugh. No one told me what it was."

Elisabeth grinned sardonically. "Then he got what he wanted. He never wanted me, not as a wife anyway." She shrugged, "So be it. What about my father? Has there been any word?"

He considered her speculatively. "So you have not found him. That was the one thing Reinhardt was most uneasy about. He did not want to get your estates only to learn that you never had inherited them in the first place." He shrugged. "The only thing we ever heard about your father and his party was that they traveled farther west and get a ship at Marseilles. Don't remember why."

That was the first real intelligence she had gotten about her father after all this time. She realized that his heading west and sailing from Marseilles was the reason she had never learned anything. They had taken entirely different paths. Who could know what happened after that?

"I have to take a piss. Will you help me get up?" Hans asked. She willingly put her arm under his and helped him stand. Acting as a crutch, she helped him a short distance away.

He looked at her crotch. "How do you manage . . . ?" he began.

"I manage. Can you?" She gave him a challenging look.

"You've changed," he said. As he relieved himself, she looked away and chuckled.

"You don't know the half of it."

He pointed to a bench under a tree and said, "Let's get some shade. This fucking place is like an oven. Or Hell."

In the little shade they shared their stories. Elisabeth refused to be led into talking about her transformation. Hans finally stopped trying. She also kept her details of the massacre at Merzifon to a minimum.

He told her that after Reinhardt had dismissed him, he had found a place as a squire to the Ritter Conrad von Niederhof who was serving as a knight in Duke Welf's army. The old Duke had had an illustrious career as a war leader, but now he wanted to end his days fighting the heathens in the Holy Land. His party joined the Duke of Aquitaine's and another commander named Hugh de Vermandois. Yes, Ida was with them. She brought along the Archbishop of Salzburg as her chaperone." The last word was spoken bitterly.

Hans made no pretense of his opinion of that. "She's drop-dead gorgeous, especially for an old woman, but she'd no business coming on pilgrimage with us. She's been trouble every step of the way."

Elisabeth was sitting forward with her forearms on her thighs, staring at the dry ground between her feet. "I heard you were all trouble."

Andronikos had had time only to tell her of the arrival of the Aquitainian-Bavarian pilgrims, how they were out of control throughout Byzantine territory and how Alexios had dispatched Pecheneg mercenaries to escort them directly to Nicomedia. The pilgrims engaged the Pecheneg in battle. It was only when the Dukes of Aquitaine and Bavaria swore to the Basileus that they would keep the unruly force in control that he let them proceed. Most were escorted to Nicomedia, but some of the commanders stayed in Constantinople. I got a sweet billet with some no-balls high mucky-muck."

Elisabeth, who had said nothing about her own billet in Constantinople, let the insult to her benefactor go. "So when did they move on? The pilgrims you came with, I mean."

"They were heading to Konya. Thought that Count William would have taken it by then. We were getting low on everything. The Nivenais bastards already got all the food there was to get out of these pigs." He indicated the people who moved about on their daily chores around him.

"How long ago?" she insisted.

"A fortnight maybe? The days go by much the same here. You are going to take me with you, aren't you?" His eyes begged her to say yes.

She looked at him. "I cannot now, but I promise I will come back for you. I owe you at least that."

He looked resigned. "You promise," he said tentatively.

"On my honor as a knight of the Cross." She made the sign on her breast, then looked away to hide the look that crossed her features when she realized how little honor she had seen among those knights.

His look was sardonic, but he kept his thoughts about her knighthood to himself.

Elisabeth arrived at Konya to find it all but deserted. From a mullah in a nearby village she learned that indeed Count William of Nevers had tried to take the city, but failed and moved on. His eyes burned with pride as he recounted that tale, but they grew dismal when he went on. "Then we saw the bigger army. Most of us fled. But we took all the food with us. And everything else we could carry. When they got here the place was of no use to them, the Infidels. They got a taste of what Allah, may he be praised, has in store for them. For you as well, dog of a Christian."

Elisabeth thought she ought to get away from here quickly, but she ventured, "Where did they go?"

The man leered with savage delight. "Herakleia." The knife-edge sharpness of his words chilled her to the core.

Astonished that she had made it out of even a deserted town alive, the animosity toward pilgrims understandably great, she pressed on. Soon she discovered that every well the road passed was blocked. The villages were deserted and emptied of anything she or Gauner could eat. She was sorry she had been so generous with Hans. She pressed on.

Forced to camp without a fire, she rode on. Finally she saw before her some hills rising about the plain. The road, it appeared, wound its way between them. A presentiment made a chill go down her perspiring back even before she saw the swirling black shapes in the sky. She knew as she rode closer that the birds were carrion birds as she had feared. There was an untold number. She urged the already dehydrated Gauner to a faster pace. She kept her eyes dead ahead, waiting to see the first body, not remembering to protect herself from ambush.

As she rode into the defile she started to see them. First a score, then a hundred, then innumerable corpses, most already picked at by the carrion birds. She scanned the bodies as the tears ran down her cheeks, making the stifling heat under her helm humid and even more unbearable. Men, all men. No women. She saw a long narrow pool of water ahead alongside the road in a small widening of the track between the hills. There were so many bodies next to it she almost could not see the water. But Gauner saw it and pulled forward. She dragged back the reins to keep him in check.

Elisabeth scanned the space before her. She saw it rising above the barrier of the bodies. Some sort of box. Wood with cloth of some sort. A litter! She leapt from Gauner's back and ran to the litter. "Ida, Ida!" she called. "Where are you?" She dashed about the litter looking at the bodies. She caught sight of what looked like a woman's cloak. The woman was mostly hidden under other bodies, but she managed to pull her out and turn her over. It was one of Ida's serving-women, Elisabeth saw. And she was quite dead, though how she had died Elisabeth could not tell. She was bloody enough that if there was a wound, it would require a search to find it. She abandoned the woman's corpse and continued her search.

She had the impression that Gauner, no longer restrained, had found his way through and over the bodies to the pool and was undoubtedly drinking his fill. Her own throat was parched, but she would not leave off her search.

She heard a small noise from the direction of the overturned litter. It came again, a faint moan. She dashed to the litter and lifted it to look under. There indeed was a body, a woman's body. The woman's clothing was soaked with blood and caked with dirt, nevertheless were clearly of rich quality. Her face was . . . it hardly looked like a face. She knelt by the woman and lifted her upper body in her arms. "Your Grace?"

The moaning stopped. "Who ith that?" she lisped. The voice was Ida's, recognizable in spite of its hoarseness.

"It's Elias, your Grace. You met me in Mölk. Remember, we talked about my late sister."

One sunburned arm lifted so that the woman could shade the one eye that could open. Half of her face was crushed, the ridge around that eye, her cheekbone and the jaw on that side bloody and disfigured. It was a miracle she could talk at all. It was a miracle she was alive at all. "I remember. The knight who wath tho thmitten with me."

Elisabeth laughed. "That's the one. What happened to you?"

The woman sighed. "A horthe'th hoof happened to me." She had fallen from the litter when her bearers dropped it, rolled out of it and under one of the Turk's horses. Had it been a destrier like Gauner she would not be alive.

The Margravina was struggling to rise. "Wait, your Grace. Let me get my horse. I'll get you on it somehow and then we can ride back for help." She looked about. "Is everyone dead? What about the Nivenais?"

"I don't know. We got here and the men went mad. They thaw the pool. But it wath poithoned."

Elisabeth looked down at her. "Poisoned? Oh sweet Jesu!"

She leapt to her feet and ran toward the pool, jumping over and sidestepping corpses of both pilgrims and Turks. She rounded the tallest pile of bodies and found Gauner. He was unsteady on his feet. Foam spewed from his muzzle. His legs seemed to be buckling. He collapsed and fell, landing hard in the water, making it splash up away from where Elisabeth approached. The horse lay with his head half in the water, breathing heavily, erratically. Being careful not to touch the water, she knelt by him and leaned out to stroke his neck. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed. "Oh Gauner!" The horse rolled its eye at her. Its confusion and pain were evident. Wiping her sweaty forehead on her arm, where the mail was blistering hot, she reached for her dagger. In one quick movement she put her destrier out of his misery. "Goodbye, old friend. Tell Elias I am so sorry when you see him."

She knelt, still sobbing, until she remembered Ida. She got to her feet and gave the horse one last look, realizing with regret that her saddlebag was underneath him. She ran back unsteadily to the overturned litter. Ida's eyes were closed and she hardly seemed to breathe. "Oh no," Elisabeth moaned, kneeling by the woman. She put her ear to the Margravina's breast over her heart. She remembered bitterly longing to rest her cheek there, what was it, centuries ago? The heart was still beating.

Elisabeth stood and looked around again. For the first time she noticed the stench. Carrion birds eyed her hostilely. She saw the poles that lifted the litter and went to one and pulled it out. It was slow work, and she thought she might pass out from the heat and the effort. Somehow she got both poles free. She reached for the wineskin at her belt and remembered Ida's parched lips. She dashed back to the woman, who now lay under some cloth Elisabeth had torn from the litter curtains. She knelt and lifted the woman's head. She tried to trickle some water in her mouth, but it just ran over her teeth and lips and off her jaw into the dirt. There was almost none left. She left the skin by Ida and went back to her task.

Stripping the tunics off two bodies, the chain mail already stripped from all of the knights and soldiers, she went back to the poles. She slipped the ends into the sleeves of the first shirt, then the other ends into the sleeves of the other. She used the laces that held up britches or chain mail leggings to tie the two together at their hems. It was a stretcher of sorts, but what else was there to be done?

She returned to Ida and gently lifted her in her arms. She was so light! Ida was a petite woman, but Elisabeth realized that much of the impression was due to her own developed muscles. Life as a knight, in fact if not by right of chivalry, had made her immensely strong. She would need that strength now, if she was to walk back to Byzantine territory dragging the stretcher with the Margravina behind her. She settled the woman on the stretcher, then went to retrieve her wineskin. As she did she scanned the bodies for the garb of noblemen. She saw knights, but no one was more richly dressed. Had these men, nobleman and commanders, deserted their armies like Raymond, Conrad, the Lombard noblemen, the two Stephens and Odo had? Leaving Ida to suffer and die or be taken and forced into slavery? Her anger was so intense, her head throbbed so painfully, she was forced to lean forward and retch out what little was in her stomach. No one looked like a high churchman either. So Ida's own elected Archbishop had abandoned her too.

When she got back to the makeshift stretcher, she saw that Ida was moving under the cloths that shaded her. She parted them to see the blue, uninjured eye peering out at her. "Where'th you horth?"

"Dead. Poisoned. But I made this stretcher. I will pull it behind me. We will get back to safety." She pulled out the wineskin, propped up the woman's head and poured the last few sips of the water in her mouth. Ida sputtered but swallowed it all.

"God bleth you, my champion," Ida croaked.

In spite of the horror of their situation, Elisabeth's heart thrilled at the words.

Elisabeth wrapped a length of cloth around her head to shade it from the sun. She strode forth into the hills with one pole of the stretcher in each hand. Her elbows were bent so she could press her arms in to help take the weight. It was negligible now, but she knew it would soon seem heavier. Her helm was back at the scene of the massacre with the rest of her armor. She could not carry it or wear it. All she had now was her sword belt, sword and dagger. And the Margravina of Austria.

Elisabeth had always had an instinctual sense of direction. Glancing at the path of the sun as she walked, she made her way west by northwest, hoping to intersect the road she had traveled before. She knew the chances of survival were minuscule, but all she could do was persevere. She realized soon enough that trying this in the heat of the sun was insane, so she found a place where a rocky outcrop created shade and dragged the stretcher toward it. "We'll continue when it gets dark. It's October now, I think, so it should not be long."

"I am tho thirthty," the woman, with half her face crushed, moaned.

Elisabeth felt her own heart sink. "I know, your Grace. I am so sorry. There is no water."

She sat next to the woman's shuddering body and waited for dark. She longed to see Maliha's soft honey-colored eyes again, to tousle Tacetin's dark curls, to smile and laugh with Albrecht. She said aloud, "Oh, Elias, I am so sorry I have failed so utterly. But if I must die like this, I am glad at least you were spared that. If I did nothing else right, I tried. I saved Albrecht, Elias. He is happy again now. You would like Andronikos. He dotes on him. You would approve."

A sound came from under the cloth that veiled the Margravina. Elisabeth reached and pulled the cloth away from Ida's face. "Eliath," the woman croaked.

"Your Grace?"

"Pleathe hold me," Ida pleaded.

Elisabeth stretched out alongside her. She took the woman in her arms and gently moved her head so its left side rested on her shoulder. Ida was silent, what little strength she had she used to hold her knight close. Elisabeth remembered that when she had first seen this woman, this lovely woman, she had told Albrecht she wanted to die in her arms. The woman who was now dying in hers.

She could feel the life in that once beautiful body become weaker and weaker. At last Ida shuddered and was still. The most beautiful woman in Europe, the Dowager Margravina of Austria, was dead. And Elisabeth knew she would soon be dead herself, and Ida's son, the Margrave Leopold, would never know what had happened to his mother.

She sat and wept, though there were no tears. She had so little moisture in her body she could make none. As the sun went down, she tried her best to lay out Ida's body, to cover it suitably with the curtains from the litter, and to scrape a trench to lay her in. She knew the animals would get at the body if she did not cover it with stones. She only had the strength to drag a few over. She knelt and prayed for the repose of the Margravina's soul. Then she pulled herself to her feet, and now, with no burden but her thirst, exhaustion and heatstroke, she set out again on her journey. The half moon showed her the way.

She had no idea how much time had passed, how far she had walked, when she fell and moved no more.

She felt herself tumbled from side to side. It felt as if she lay in a cart rumbling painfully up a road. A wineskin spout touched her lips and she drank the water, cool, clear, fresh water that spilled onto her lips. A cool hand stroked her forehead. "Maliha," she tried to say, but her throat was closed and her lips too parched.

"Hush, my love. You are saved. You will be all right." Maliha exchanged glances with someone else in the cart.

Elisabeth craned her neck to see who it was. The movement made her head reel, and she almost passed out. A familiar voice said humorously, "It's Hans. Your friends came and I told them where you had gone. We found the bodies and guessed what you had done, from the drag marks of the poles. No wind down in that defile, you see. The eunuch sent men to follow you, since the cart could not. They found you lying face down on a hillside. They thought your were dead, but obviously you were not. This one has been taking care of you."

She knew he meant Maliha. She looked up into Maliha's wonderful eyes, so full of love. She tried to form the words, "I love you."

"I love you too," Maliha said. "Now let's get home to Tacetin and Albrecht. We will have our whole lives to talk."

The corners of Elisabeth's dust-dry lips lifted as far as they could. She closed her eyes, felt the woman's breasts against her cheek.

Maliha murmured, "Rest, my beloved pilgrim."

Elisabeth sighed and slept.

The End

Author’s Notes

The fact that anyone can put together a true account of the devastating Crusade of 1101 is remarkable. Besides Anna Komnena’s sparse references in her Alexiad, quoted in the final chapter of this novel, only two more or less contemporary records of the expedition exist. One, by Ekkhardt of Aura, was written by a man who arrived in Constantinople with other pilgrims and then set sail for Syria before any news had come from the pilgrims led, or misled, by Raymond de Saint Gilles, Count of Toulouse. The second was a narrative written ten years after these events by Albert of Aachen (Aix). Sir Stephen Runciman* based his scholarly account on these and similar works, and even there I found some poor reasoning, specifically that the conditions he describes, going for days with no water in the summer heat would, according to an expert, have killed the entire pilgrim force.

It is with that smugly in mind that I assert that this novel is fiction, not a historical text, and should be taken as fiction. In writing Beloved Pilgrim I stuck as much as possible to what is known of the time and the events but focused, as is my wont, on creating a jolly good yarn as much as an accurate representation of people, places, and deeds. What you read here is truly a fictionalized account with liberties taken as literary necessity required. You might call it improving on what are already uncertain facts.

Every author makes decisions about certain aspects of a novel. I made two that I think deserve explanation.

Names

When writing about historical figures I chose to use the Anglicized versions of their names, such as Stephen, Odo, William, Hugh, and so forth. I did this because they are what readers are accustomed to, and besides, just translating them to the modern forms of their native lands’ language would be no more authentic.

“Crusade”

According to sources I located, the terms “crusade” and “crusader” were not used as early as the First Crusade and the Crusade of 1101. Nevertheless I used these terms occasionally as much to provide some variety from “pilgrim” and “pilgrim knight”.

Place names are a mix of the contemporary and modern names. Ancyra, for instance, is better known now as Ankara, the capital of Turkey.

Could a woman wield a sword and fight alongside trained knights on destriers? Of course she could. There are numerous instances of women warriors throughout time, and specifically during the Middle Ages and even in the Crusades. We hear about Eleanor of Aquitaine, who went to the Crusade but never seriously expected to fight, except perhaps with her woebegone husband, King Louis of France. That’s not the sort of woman I am talking about here. There were female combatants in the Crusades. Though Christian sources fail to mention them, Muslim sources are not so chary, mentioning both their own and Christian fighters who were women. As a fellow author quipped, “Joan of Arc didn’t go to war wielding an embroidery needle!”

Could a woman pass for a man amid all those other men? Just look at the women who fought in the American Civil war, such as Albert D. J. Cashier. She managed to fight and live alongside other Union Soldiers and was simply accounted “shy”.

What happened to the historical figures who were part of the Crusade of 1101? Raymond de Saint Gilles, Count of Toulouse, was the first one back to Constantinople. The reception he got depends on the chronicler, but what happened next is not in dispute. He set sail for Syria where he was arrested by Bohemond’s nephew Tancred for his desertion of his followers at Merzifon. Bohemond himself stayed imprisoned for quite sometime while the Emir of Nixtar and others haggled over his ransom. Constable Conrad, Count Stephen of Blois and Count Stephen of Burgundy returned to fighting on behalf of the King of Jerusalem, Baldwin. The two Stephens were killed in battle and Conrad, who had impressed the Muslims, was spared but sent into captivity in Egypt.

A note about the Margravina Ida: She really did go to the Crusade of 1101. For years the story about her ran that she was captured and made part of a harem, becoming the mother of the Turkish hero, Zengi. This is impossible, since Zengi was born before she arrived at Constantinople. She most likely fell from her litter and was crushed by horses’ hooves during the ambush. Themo, her Archbishop, did not, as Elisabeth feared, desert Ida but rather was captured and martyred.

You can find out about all the historical figures in “Whatever Happened To…?” in the Appendices.

The main characters in the novel are purely imaginary, but let me add one more historical figure. The woman the Norman mercenary Ranulf tells Elisabeth about, Rachel, is a factual person, a woman who killed her four children and then herself during the massacre of the Jews in Mainz in 1196, really lived and died. The only part of her story that is fictional is her friendship with Ranulf.

What happened to Sigismund of Winterkirche? There were many mysteries that came out of the Crusades, such as the disappearance of the Margravina Ida, so Elisabeth and Albrecht may never know… or they might. Only a sequel would lay that mystery to rest.

The Legacy of the Crusade of 1101

Thanks to their inoculation by the threat of the leaders of the first. Second and third waves of pilgrims during the Crusade of 1101, Kilij Arslan and the Seljuk Turks had developed plenty of antibodies to fight off later infections, that is allies, troops, and experience to fight off any future Crusaders. As a result the path between the ever-dwindling Byzantine Empire and Jerusalem was not only no longer clear, it was impossible to follow, being protected by the awesome Seljuk and allied armies. As a result no new Crusade would be attempted until the 1140s. With the exception of possession of Jerusalem and a few other cities, the result of the Crusade of 1101 was the loss of all that the First Crusade gained. Alexios I had already begun to lose power in Constantinople, and the failures by the 1101 leaders meant he would never regain it.

As Crusades scholar, Sir Stephen Runciman asserts in a volume of his History of the Crusades*:

The road across the peninsula remained unsafe for Christian armies, Frankish or Byzantine. When the Byzantines wished later to intervene in Syria, they had to operate at the end of communication lines that were long and very vulnerable; while Frankish immigrants from the west were afraid to travel overland through Constantinople, except in vast armies. They could only come by sea; and few of them could afford the fare. And instead of the thousands of useful colonists that the year should have brought to Syria and Palestine, only a small number of quarrelsome leaders who had lost their armies and their reputations on the way penetrated through to the Frankish states, where there was already a sufficiency of quarrelsome leaders.

Runciman goes on to point out that the blockage of land routes resulted in the rise of the Italian merchant cities, like Milan and Venice, helping to launch the new economy in Southern Europe.

Find an alphabetical list of characters, relevant maps, and information on what became of the historical figures in this novel at www.shieldwallbooks.com. The author would love to hear from readers. Just drop me a note at hawthorne@nanhawthorne.com .