Pagan's Crusade Read Online Free PDF Page B

Running.
    ‘The Valley of Running lies between here and the Jordan,’ he explains. ‘It is a narrow and very dangerous gorge which brigands tend to favour when they ambush our escorts.’
    ‘I think I’ve heard of it.’
    ‘Good. So can you tell me what is the best method of defence on such a road?’
    Damn, damn, damn. If I’d known we were going to be tested , I’d have paid more attention to Rockhead’s talk. This is like Saint Joseph’s all over again.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘Well, my lord . . . I think the best method of defence would probably be to run like hell.’
    A long, long silence. Saint George seems to be choosing his words with care.
    ‘Speed is essential.’ (Unenthusiastically.) ‘But it’s more than a matter of speed, Pagan. When you’re moving fast, it’s the vanguard which becomes the archers’ target, while those in the centre are exposed to the full force of the running attack. So it’s important to put the shields up front, and the swords behind them. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘That’s why I’ll be putting you in front when we approach the Valley. You will not be required to stay near me. I shall be stationed behind, on the right flank. You are not to turn back on any account: you will form part of our arrowhead, and you must cut straight through. Do you understand?’
    Oh, I understand, all right. Can’t handle a sword, but good enough for target practice. Same old story.
    ‘Yes, my lord. I understand.’
    He falls silent. Not a single bead of sweat on his brow, though it’s as hot as hell’s kitchen. Not a breath of wind. Fans flap. Children whine. Horseflies drone like monks at prayer. If I was a brigand, I wouldn’t be out boiling my brains in this sun. I’d have my feet up in some nice, cool cave, with a jug of lime juice and a damp cloth over my eyes.
    ‘Pagan?’
    (What now ?)
    ‘I heard you say something to those pilgrims . . .’ Pause. ‘Am I to understand that you can read ?’
    ‘Yes, my lord. I can read.’
    ‘And write, too?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    Another brief silence. That wide, blue stare: wide, blue and empty, like the desert sky.
    ‘I suppose you were taught at the monastery, when you were a child?’
    (Well I certainly didn’t learn it in the guardroom.)
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    He nods. Behind us, the pilgrims are growing restless. Agnes, especially. There’s no mistaking those dulcet tones.
    ‘Let’s sing!’ she squawks. ‘I always like a good sing-along.’
    ‘What about Psalm Forty-Six?’ (Frogface.) ‘What about “There is a river the streams whereof shall make glad the City of God”?’
    ‘No, no.’ Naturally Joscelin has to put his word in. (Poisonous little scorpion.) ‘We should sing Psalm Fifty-Three. “Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity.” After all, we’ll be passing the ruins of Gomorrah, soon.’
    Gomorrah! Thrills! Excitement! A babble of questions! Where? Where is it? Can we see it? Can you show it to us?
    Meanwhile Joscelin – the expert – takes it all in his stride. If anyone knows about Sodom and Gomorrah, it’s the man who should have been born there.
    ‘No, it’s not far. It’s down to the south,’ he says. ‘You can see the Pillar of Salt two parasangs from the Dead Sea.’
    ‘The Pillar of Salt? You mean Lot’s wife? The real Lot’s wife?’ Corba can’t believe her ears. ‘Where she was turned to salt for gazing at God’s vengeance on the Cities of the Plain?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘And you can see her?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Awestruck silence – but not for long.
    ‘What does she look like?’
    The scorpion rolls his eyes skyward like a dying cow.
    ‘She looks brave and tormented and beautiful,’ he drivels – forgetting the fact that he’s never been farther south than Hebron in his entire life. I have, though. I’ve also seen the Pillar of Salt. And if that was Lot’s wife, she was a midget hunchback with one leg missing.
    ‘Can we visit her?’