Wicked the waste, his father had said, and Murdo felt the righteous fury stir in his grief-heavy heart. In that instant he vowed he would never die in a land not his own.

After the prayers, and another psalm, they helped Murdo onto the donkey, and walked slowly back to where Emlyn was waiting. The monks maintained a respectful silence until reaching the tent, whereupon Ronan spoke up. 'Much as I might wish otherwise, we dare not linger here,' he said. 'The tent is needed. It would be best if we left it quickly so as not to arouse interest in our affairs.'

'Let them have the tent,' Murdo answered. 'It is nothing to me. I will find my brothers and tell them what has happened. They will help me protect the treasure.'

'There will be time later to consider what you will do,' the priest suggested. 'First, we must think carefully how to conceal the treasure so that it can be moved.'

'We will need a wagon-a small one, at least…' he began.

Ronan pulled on his chin. 'Every wagon is needed for moving supplies and water to the camps. It will not be easy to find one, and any wagon suspected of carrying treasure will fall prey to thieves. We will have to conceal it somehow.'

The three fell silent pondering how this might be accomplished. Try as he might, Murdo could not think of any way to move the treasure from the tent without letting the whole world know he had it. Perhaps Ronan was right after all, he thought: here, he had not even taken possession of the treasure, and already the curse was beginning to bite.

'Maybe we could find a camel,' suggested Emlyn. 'The desert folk use them as beasts of burden. We could get one to carry the treasure.'

'How would that help?' wondered Murdo. It seemed to him thieves could as easily steal a camel as a wagon full of treasure, and he said so.

'Not if they thought it carried corpses!' Emlyn said. 'Many of the noble families of Jerusalem are carrying their dead to family tombs in the desert. We might pose as one of these and carry the treasure away.'

The idea seemed absurd and ludicrous to Murdo, but he had nothing else to suggest. 'Even if we wanted to, how could we find one of these camels?'

'Leave that to me,' said Ronan. 'Now, we must hurry.' He turned to the waiting Emlyn. 'Secure some more burial shrouds and bindings. The three of you prepare the treasure as you would a body. I will return as soon as I can, and you must be ready.'

When all the bodies of the Holy City's former inhabitants had been collected by the few miserable survivors, the corpses were heaped onto great mounds outside the Gate of the Column and the Jaffa Gate. Whether Greek, Armenian, Egyptian, Turk, or Palestinian, all were flung onto the pile; Muslim and Jew and Christian, together in death as they had mingled in life. The corpses had been but one day in the sweltering sun when they began to bloat and burst, spilling a noxious stink into the air which permeated the whole city.

Count Raymond was especially distressed by the horrific stench. In anticipation of receiving the grateful call of his comrades to assume the kingship of the Holy City, he had appropriated the citadel for himself and his entourage of servants and advisors, and was therefore close to the Jaffa Gate, where a large number of bodies had been brought. The wind coming off the sea sent the odour rising up the walls and in through the open windows of the palace fortress. The cackle and cough of the scavenger birds became as constant as the stench was ghastly.

'Burn them!' he cried at last, suffocating from the ripe, putrid smell wafting through his rooms. 'Burn them and be quick about it!'

'Lord count,' counselled his chaplain, 'I urge you to reconsider your command. The smoke resulting from such a fire would be far worse than the stink itself.'

'I do not care,' Raymond snapped angrily. 'At least it will silence those damnable birds! Nothing could be worse than listening to the corpse-pickers day and night. Burn them! Burn them all, I say! Do you hear me, Aguilers?'

'I hear and obey, my lord. It shall be done.' The abbot bowed to Raymond's authority, and wished, not for the first time that Bishop Adhemar was still alive. He made to leave, then remembered his previous errand and turned back. 'Forgive me, lord, I was merely wishing to announce the arrival of Count Robert. He is waiting in your private chamber.'

'This soon!' cried Raymond. 'Good! Good!' Leaping from his chair, he strode for the door where he paused long enough to throw another command over his shoulder. 'See to the burning, abbot. I want it begun before I return.'

Raymond's long legs carried him quickly to the inner room he had chosen for the reception of his envoys and intimates. The count had let it be known that, as the lord chosen by the pope himself to lead the crusade, he would not refuse the summons of his peers to govern the Holy City. To this end, he had sent his chief supporter to the various camps to determine the mood of the other lords regarding his speedy accession to the Throne of Jerusalem.

Unfortunately, fever had claimed his most ardent and loyal supporter, Bishop Adhemar; and Counts Hugh of Vermandois and Stephen of Blois had departed the crusade after Antioch, leaving Raymond somewhat deficient in ready companions to champion his cause. Casting his net of favours more widely, he coaxed a reluctant Robert, Count of Flanders, to his side; Robert had quickly become Raymond's closest confidant. Owing to Robert's extraordinary lack of personal ambition, he also enjoyed the trust of the rest of the lords and noblemen. For the last two days he had been flitting from camp to camp, talking to the various leaders, and gaining the measure of each lord's desire for the throne. Having completed his first survey of the field, Robert had returned to report his observations. He now sat slumped in his chair, hands folded over his stomach and legs straight out in front of him, eyes closed.

Count Raymond burst into the room to find his friend asleep, crossed to the table and filled two chalices with wine. Taking them both, he turned and shoved one under Robert's nose. 'This will revive you, sir! Take and drink!'

Robert opened his eyes and accepted the cup. He drank long and deep of the sweet dark wine, and said, 'By the god who made me, Toulouse, it is blistering hot in the camps.' He drank again and held out his cup to be refilled. 'At least the wind is out of the west so it takes away the stink.'

'I have given orders to have the bodies burned at once,' replied Raymond as he filled the cup from the jar. 'But tell me, what have you learned?'

Robert drank again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Ah, that loosens the tongue somewhat.' Glancing at the count, he said, 'Now, to business.' He placed the cup on the board. 'This is the way of it: any direct opposition to your taking the kingship has vanished like the dew in the desert sun. Bohemond will no doubt be content with Antioch-likewise Baldwin with Edessa. Both have as much as they can do to hold on to what they have won so far without taking on Jerusalem, too.'

'Let them try!' sneered Raymond. 'The cowardly dogs did not so much as lift a finger to help us win the city. It will be long and long before those two are welcome within these gates.'

'Just so,' agreed Robert. 'There is great sentiment among the other nobles that neither of them should share in the spoils and plunder, since they did not see fit to complete the pilgrimage. No one would support a bid by either of them to become king.' He raised his cup and took another long swallow before resuming his recital. 'That just leaves Robert of Normandy, and Godfrey of Bouillon.'

'Yes? And what is their disposition?'

'My cousin the duke is making plans to return to Normandy even as we speak,' Robert replied, 'and Godfrey is likewise so inclined; his brother Eustace is not well, and they wish to leave as soon as possible.'