Alternate Generals II

Then Adhemar would have been Bohemond's best defense this night, assuming the Legate were in shape for so long a walk. Or Tancred, whose Arabic might have been good enough for a feeble curse or two.

Bohemond leapt forward, though his leg felt as though it had been wounded all over again, and grabbed the stranger. What felt like honest steel and flesh lay beneath his gripping fingers. The man held firm. Either he had a dagger-a deadly little final weapon, poisoned or not-tucked in among those folds of costly robes, too clean for a proper man, or he really was one of the unclean creatures known as dji

"Have you come to offer me all the kingdoms of the earth?" Bohemond demanded.

The dji

"Well asked, my lord Bohemond," he said. "So you read the Book of which you are a child, in which the saint we call Issa fasts in the wilderness and is visited by Shaitan. Walk with me now, and let me show you all these kingdoms of the earth."

I am a fool and the son of a fool, Bohemond told himself, knowing both to be a lie. Nevertheless, as if he had been bespelled by the moon or-the wine! This son of Satan may not have poisoned it, but put some drug in it to render me witless!

Christ, it would be hard to be Prince of Antioch and then cut down with no more of a fight than Yaghi Siyan put up, fleeing after he'd lost the city.

Or maybe it was just the fever, playing tricks with the light and his judgment. He heard himself murmuring, "Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, and saith unto him, all these things will I give thee, if you will fall down and worship me. Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan, for it is written, Thou shall worship the Lord thy God and him only shalt thou serve. Then the devil leaveth him and behold, angels came and ministered unto him."

But he found that he'd taken a few steps to an outcropping of rock, built up with a wall on which it was possible to lean out and overlook the entire valley. Unsteady as he was, the dji

The dji

"But you haven't left."

He gestured at the city lying at their feet. "What will you ask?" he demanded. "A princedom? The Emperor's crown?" He took a deep breath. "The Holy City of Jerusalem itself? Will you beg for it?"

"Antioch is mine by right of conquest," said Bohemond. "And I beg for nothing."

He was Antioch already, if he could hold fast, despite Godfrey and Adhemar's holiness and Raymond's mewlings that Antioch belonged to the Emperor. And Jerusalem? A dream men had died for. Bohemond preferred gold and honest stone to dreams.

"You wouldn't care to step off this height and let me help you fly?" There was laughter in the stranger's voice.

"You offer me cities, honor, gold," said Bohemond. "Emperors have done that, and I've taken what I chose and only what I thought I could hold. You offer me more than any man could guard, and for what price? My soul? Poor scarred thing that it is, assuming I have one at all. I would not bargain with you for so little."

"Then if your soul means nothing to you," said the dji

He held out his hand, scarred with battle, but long and fine. Would those fingers be ice-cold or warm as honest human flesh?

Knocking his hand away might make the dji

"If Jesus Christ appeared on that rock over there right now and offered me Antioch, all unearned, I'd say 'thank you very much, my Lord, but I ca

He heard his voice echo off the rock walls of the citadel. In the valley below, men raised a cheer. He had heard them cheering like that, "Bo-he-mond!Bo-he-mond!" at dawn when they looked down from the city's walls and realized that they'd won it, at least until Kerbogha could arrive. Screamed like fugitives from the Pit, their faces black with smoke and sweat and rust, their eyes red, and blood pouring from unfelt wounds. He'd beggared himself to bring them here, cursed them for gaping mouths, greedy guts, and weaklings when their courage faltered; yet here they were, in Antioch, and he loved every one of them.

Would anyone lower himself to win Antioch by magic or even the gift of God when he could have this ferocious glory? Not Bohemond.

"You poor, miserable bastard," he all but purred at his adversary. "Let me explain it to you. See this city? It's mine. Won bymy hand,my sword,my men,my blood and my bone and the courage God gaveme as a knight. And you offer me trickery instead. As well offer me water and call it wine, or a leather glove and oil when I want a woman. You know about the wine, at least. Do you damn dji

Those were fighting words. If the man drew, as he expected, he'd have God's own battle on his hands. Roused as he was, he thought he could take him. And if not, it was better than wondering if his leg wound would rot.

Sweat was breaking out all over him. His matted hair was drenched with it. Waves of hot and cold rushed over him, but he managed not to reel until they subsided and he realized: I've got the turn. My fever's broken, and I'm going to live. Live and rule Antioch.

He drew his sword and waited.

And waited longer.

His adversary laughed. "My lord, if you could see the expression on your face! I believe you're actually disappointed we won't be able to hack each other to pieces."

Bohemond found himself laughing, with relief among other things. "It would be a shame to spoil that pretty coat. Maybe, when we take the citadel, I can get me one as spoil."

"I will remember that," said the other man and saluted him in the pagan fashion-touching heart, lips, and brow with a grace that any perfumed courtier from the south of France might envy.

He drew in a deep breath, looked up at the sky, flying the same ba

"I have found out what I wished to learn," he said. "Are you well enough to walk down alone to where you're quartered?"

"Walk?" Bohemond replied, as he gazed down the way he had come a long night before. "I could fly!" Then, as the other man laughed, he added hastily, "But I won't!"

"I never expected it," he answered. "But I am pleased to hear you are well. If you feel the need, send a messenger to the citadel. Some physicians still survive. May God be with you."

To Bohemond's surprise, he used the proper word, not "Allah."

Tancred came riding toward Bohemond and the assembled lords with the sort of eagerness you beat out of pages and worked out of squires. His horse's hooves struck sparks from the city's stones, but though it stumbled, it didn't fall.

"Hell of a way to use a good horse," Bohemond muttered. Didn't Tancred realize this idiocy reflected badly on his uncle?

"Uncle! My lord!" he was shouting.

Splendid. Now, he was interrupting a council to which he hadn't been invited, and Raymond was already shooting Bohemond little «control-your-nephew» glares that Adhemar was bound to have to back up.

Tancred reined in so suddenly that the horse reared, sending him into a fall that only a knight's skill turned into a form of dismount.