be even worse. ‘You can tell him.’
‘You must speak, Peter,’ Firuz hissed. ‘It must seem to come from you, and choose your words with care for there will be Greek speakers in this tent. Also, look him in the eye and reply with firmness. Imagine you are preaching to your flock and that God is using you as his instrument.’
It was not immediate; Peter seemed to want to fill his body with air before he opened his mouth and steadied his nerves. When words did come out, they made him sound more demanding than good sense allowed.
‘I am Peter the Hermit and I come from the mighty Council of Princes of the Holy Crusade.’
Firuz translated that in a softer tone and with a higher degree of tact, the council being noble not mighty, not that it mattered for another whispered the true words in Kerbogha’s ear.
‘I have come to seek by what terms you will allow us pass out of Antioch and make our way back to our far-off homes?’
Firuz added to that, ‘In peace.’
The Atabeg actually began to laugh, it starting with a chuckle then turning into a bellow of amusement, soon taken up by all his attendants. Peter and Firuz watched as his head went back and hisbody rocked in his curule chair, so hard that the front legs were lifted from the floor. Then it died out, like a candle being extinguished, to be replaced by a glare that had Peter take an alarmed step backwards, only stopped from going further by the restraining arm of Firuz.
‘Did you come in peace?’ Kerbogha demanded, not waiting for a reply, leaving Firuz talking simultaneously and quietly while the Atabeg ranted about Crusaders, Franks, the Christian faith – Latin and Orthodox – as well as the crimes of all of those and the mercy of Islam, spittle bursting from those thick, dark lips to spray the carpeted ground between them until he concluded and sat back with the words, ‘You came to kill, it is fitting, therefore, that you should die.’
It took some nudging to get Peter to deliver the offer as it had been given to him by the council: that the Crusaders and the pilgrims would abandon any attempt to get to Palestine and march instead to the north, leaving behind their arms and what few mounts they still possessed as well as any treasure they still had from their previous actions. Nor would they stop, not even at Constantinople.
‘It is also my duty,’ Firuz translated, ‘to remind you that we are not alone in making war on your faith. We act in concert with the mighty Emperor Alexius of Byzantium who is at this very moment marching to our aid.’
An idea put forward by Vermandois, for once his suggestion had not been ignored – that it was wasted became obvious after another bout of loud mirth.
‘Your mighty emperor is now marching back to his capital, burning everything in his wake, crops, shelter, slaughtering animals to stop me from pursuing and destroying him. That is because he thinks you lost, which proves that for a Christian he is no fool.’
Peter, shocked at such news, had to be nudged to say, ‘Our offer stands.’
The Atabeg made a pretence of thinking on it, only to slowly shake his head and start speaking again, the low and calm of his voice lending more effect to his words than if he had shouted them, Firuz matching the tone.
‘No messenger, go back to your mighty council and tell them they are as sheep and their offer a bleat. Perhaps they will, like that beast, succumb and be roasted on my fires. Or maybe they will die from lack of pasture.’
That last notion seemed to amuse Kerbogha; it chilled the men at whom it was aimed.
‘My host will pray you to come out and fight, but Allah does not always grant a wish to the faithful. So you will expire from a lack of food, and when your knights can no longer stand and do battle I will walk into Antioch at my pleasure.’
Kerbogha fell silent for a moment, which had all eyes on him for it was plain he had not finished. If it was merely for effect it worked.
‘I offer you
‘You must speak, Peter,’ Firuz hissed. ‘It must seem to come from you, and choose your words with care for there will be Greek speakers in this tent. Also, look him in the eye and reply with firmness. Imagine you are preaching to your flock and that God is using you as his instrument.’
It was not immediate; Peter seemed to want to fill his body with air before he opened his mouth and steadied his nerves. When words did come out, they made him sound more demanding than good sense allowed.
‘I am Peter the Hermit and I come from the mighty Council of Princes of the Holy Crusade.’
Firuz translated that in a softer tone and with a higher degree of tact, the council being noble not mighty, not that it mattered for another whispered the true words in Kerbogha’s ear.
‘I have come to seek by what terms you will allow us pass out of Antioch and make our way back to our far-off homes?’
Firuz added to that, ‘In peace.’
The Atabeg actually began to laugh, it starting with a chuckle then turning into a bellow of amusement, soon taken up by all his attendants. Peter and Firuz watched as his head went back and hisbody rocked in his curule chair, so hard that the front legs were lifted from the floor. Then it died out, like a candle being extinguished, to be replaced by a glare that had Peter take an alarmed step backwards, only stopped from going further by the restraining arm of Firuz.
‘Did you come in peace?’ Kerbogha demanded, not waiting for a reply, leaving Firuz talking simultaneously and quietly while the Atabeg ranted about Crusaders, Franks, the Christian faith – Latin and Orthodox – as well as the crimes of all of those and the mercy of Islam, spittle bursting from those thick, dark lips to spray the carpeted ground between them until he concluded and sat back with the words, ‘You came to kill, it is fitting, therefore, that you should die.’
It took some nudging to get Peter to deliver the offer as it had been given to him by the council: that the Crusaders and the pilgrims would abandon any attempt to get to Palestine and march instead to the north, leaving behind their arms and what few mounts they still possessed as well as any treasure they still had from their previous actions. Nor would they stop, not even at Constantinople.
‘It is also my duty,’ Firuz translated, ‘to remind you that we are not alone in making war on your faith. We act in concert with the mighty Emperor Alexius of Byzantium who is at this very moment marching to our aid.’
An idea put forward by Vermandois, for once his suggestion had not been ignored – that it was wasted became obvious after another bout of loud mirth.
‘Your mighty emperor is now marching back to his capital, burning everything in his wake, crops, shelter, slaughtering animals to stop me from pursuing and destroying him. That is because he thinks you lost, which proves that for a Christian he is no fool.’
Peter, shocked at such news, had to be nudged to say, ‘Our offer stands.’
The Atabeg made a pretence of thinking on it, only to slowly shake his head and start speaking again, the low and calm of his voice lending more effect to his words than if he had shouted them, Firuz matching the tone.
‘No messenger, go back to your mighty council and tell them they are as sheep and their offer a bleat. Perhaps they will, like that beast, succumb and be roasted on my fires. Or maybe they will die from lack of pasture.’
That last notion seemed to amuse Kerbogha; it chilled the men at whom it was aimed.
‘My host will pray you to come out and fight, but Allah does not always grant a wish to the faithful. So you will expire from a lack of food, and when your knights can no longer stand and do battle I will walk into Antioch at my pleasure.’
Kerbogha fell silent for a moment, which had all eyes on him for it was plain he had not finished. If it was merely for effect it worked.
‘I offer you
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