and the hour late.’ He stood, and the rest of the assembly followed in grateful release. ‘Sound rest and fresh hearts will profit us more than words tomorrow. My Lords, goodnight.’
A handful of priests and knights followed him out of the tent, while the other princes drifted into small groups of urgent conversation. Only Little Peter, the mystic, did not join them: he stayed seated on his bench, staring at Heaven and mumbling incoherently.
A broad shoulder interrupted my view as Bohemond appeared beside me. He gestured at my ivory writing tablet. ‘Did you find much worthy of recording, Demetrios?’
‘A scribe must listen and write; he does not have to judge.’
‘Then have you found anything else worth recording since last we spoke? Anything to explain the death of my liegeman Drogo?’
I detailed what I had learned that day.
‘So he was killed by a knightly blade, and not for gain if his purse was untouched. You do not think it was a Turk?’
‘A Turk would have robbed him.’
Bohemond scratched his beard and affected to think, though there seemed little doubt behind those pale eyes. As I waited, my gaze drifting over the room, I thought I saw Count Raymond’s single-eyed stare fixed suspiciously upon us, though he turned away as he saw me.
‘You think this Provençal woman, this Sarah, might have been the cause of the feud?’ Bohemond asked at last.
‘It is possible.’
‘A Norman knight and a Provençal woman. A dangerous union.’ He swept his arm in a circle around us. ‘You have seen tonight how fragile our allegiances are. The death of Drogo cannot be another wedge between us.’
Having witnessed the distrust, intrigue and venom in the tent, I doubted it would make much difference.
ς
It was the next afternoon before my duties allowed me to seek the woman Sarah. As the path to the Provençal camp took me through the Norman lines, I risked a second visit to Drogo’s tent. Sigurd and his men were working at the tower that day, but the need to know more of the dead man’s companions drove me to attempt it alone.
The skeletal man still sat cross-legged opposite, the mud pressed smooth under his legs. He might never have moved since the previous morning, though he waved a ragged arm in greeting as I passed.
‘Is Quino there?’ I asked.
The old man shook his head.
I tried to resurrect the other names in my mind. ‘Rainauld?’
He was not, but I must have spoken more loudly than I intended, for suddenly a voice behind me demanded: ‘Who asks for Rainauld?’
‘Demetrios Askiates, on behalf of the Lord Bohemond.’
The man who stood in the doorway of the tent seemed vaguely familiar – he had been with Quino at the cave, I thought, when they had reclaimed Drogo’s body. Lying dazed on the floor I had not marked his appearance; even now there was something about him which seemed to shrink from observation. His legs were thin as a crow’s, his arms little better, but it seemed to be the form of nature rather than starvation, for the rest of his body was as slight, bony and frail. Only the ebony black of his hair showed any evidence of health.
‘You are the man who stole Drogo’s body.’ His voice was shrill, accusing.
‘I am the man who would find Drogo’s killer. Who are you?’
‘Odard. A friend of Drogo.’
It seemed that I had not wasted my time coming here. I chose to be direct. ‘Is there any man whom you suspect of his murder?’
He recoiled a little and glanced over his shoulder. His movements were as quick and graceless as Quino’s, but while the larger man insinuated unpredictable strength this Odard showed only anxiety.
‘Drogo was a strong knight, and pious. It would have taken a mighty enemy to overcome him.’
‘He had neither sword nor armour. Who were his enemies?’
Odard wove his fingers together and pressed them into his stomach. ‘Drogo was much loved. Only a Turk would have done such a thing.’
‘But I believe he knew his killer. Was it a rival? An envious neighbour? A friend?’
Odard shook his head despairingly. ‘None. None of them.’ He sounded close to weeping, though my questions were mild enough.
‘Do you know who killed him?’ I persisted.
‘No! Quino and I were building the tower by the bridge all that day. Only when we returned to the camp did I hear the rumours, that a company of Greeks had been seen with his body. I did not believe it until the lord Bohemond confirmed it – and when