'No,' said Murdo. 'It did not go well.'

'What will you do now?'

'I will do what I said I would do.'

'Return home and claim your farm?'

'Yes.'

'You said the man who holds your lands is in Jerusalem now,' Emlyn mused, 'is that so?'

'He is,' Murdo muttered. Having just lost his brothers to greed and covetous ambition, he did not feel like discussing the finer points of his grievance.

'Who is it?' enquired the monk.

'What difference does it make?' Murdo snapped.

'God knows,' answered Emlyn amiably. 'I merely thought that if I knew more about this affair, I might be able to help you.'

'No one can help me,' Murdo declared. 'I am alone in this, and that is the way of things.'

Emlyn desisted then, and they resumed their walk in silence-which Murdo much preferred. By the time they reached the Jaffa Gate, he had decided that so there should be no bad blood between himself and King Magnus, he would redeem his oath of fealty-beg it, if possible, buy it, if necessary. Then he would return to the monastery, retrieve his fortune, and hasten to Jaffa where he would arrange passage on the first ship leaving the Holy Land to return to the West.

What he would do when he reached Orkney-that was less certain. But, inasmuch as he had a long, long time aboard ship to ponder the question, he was certain the answer would occur to him long before he saw the blue-misted hills of the Dark Isles.

The lords of the West met in council the next day in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There, in the chapel built over the rock-cut tomb where the carpenter Jesu was laid to rest following his execution by the Romans, the leaders of the crusade met to decide who should hold and protect the city for all Christendom.

Several long boards had been set up end-to-end below the chapel's altar, forming a single long table to accommodate the crusaders and their companions. The chapel was not large; there was room only for sixty men at table, and the remaining two hundred or so were made to stand behind their respective lords. Other curious onlookers filled the vestibule, and still more stood out in the yard, straining to hear what passed within.

Raymond of Toulouse, accompanied by his chaplain, the Abbot of Aguilers, Count Robert of Flanders, and various other noblemen in his company, took the chief places at the table. Next, Duke Godfrey, and his brother Baldwin, Count of Edessa, arrived and assumed their places on Raymond's right, leaving Bohemond and his company of noblemen and advisors no choice but to claim the left side of the board. Robert, Duke of Normandy, last to arrive, joined the company at the foot of the table alongside the Bishop of Bayeux, his chaplains and counsellors; for once, he did not mind facing Raymond-since his men were already making preparations to leave the city, by this time next week he would be well on his way home no matter what happened in council.

'God bless you, and be gracious to you,' Raymond began. He folded his long hands before him, and gazed solemnly down the length of the board at the many faces turned toward his. 'This day, all thanks to Our Lord, we meet in the Holy Shrine of Our Saviour's Tomb to decide among us who shall ascend the throne of Jerusalem. For this purpose, and towards this end, I have asked the abbot to lead us in prayers of thanksgiving for our victory, and supplication for our guidance in the weighty matters before us.' Lifting a hand to his chaplain, who rose from his place beside him, he said, 'Abbot, we wait upon you.'

The count then pushed back his chair and knelt on the stone floor. Godfrey was quick to follow his lead-out of genuine piety, for it was how he always prayed-and the others, not to be thought impious, drew back their own chairs and benches, and put their knees to the floor as the cleric faced the altar, stretched forth his hands, and began to pray.

Mercifully, the abbot confined himself to a half dozen well-chosen prayers and psalms, and then pronounced his benediction, allowing his congregation to resume their places at the table with unaccustomed haste. Raymond then opened the proceedings with a blunt, but truthful appraisal of their position. 'My lords,' he said, 'the death of Bishop Adhemar has left us with a question: who is to rule over the Holy City? Adhemar was not only our friend, he was the pope's legate, and therefore the likely successor to the throne of Jerusalem. We may be bereft of our friend, and his judicious guidance, but our cause is well-served by the men who have gathered around this board today.'

He let his gaze sweep the length of the table before continuing. 'The throne of Jerusalem is reclaimed, and now it is for us to choose who will ascend that throne. The rule of the Holy Land is not to be lightly assumed,' Raymond warned, his voice growing stern, 'for the man who would wield authority in Christ's city must himself be blameless, upright, and able to defend the holy places from the enemies of our faith.'

The Lord of Toulouse nodded to himself. He had put the thing fairly, and now it was for the others to say what they would. He sat down, letting his eyes rest on Robert of Flanders, who manfully stirred himself to his duty. 'My lords and dear companions,' he said, rising to his feet from his place near the head of the table, 'if you would allow me to speak, I will presume on your attention for the briefest of moments.'

'Speak! Speak!' the lords answered. 'Speak, man. Say it out.'

'Thank you.' The count bowed, as if acquiescing to the will of the assembly. 'As is well known among you, I have no personal interest in the rule of this city. Even now, I am carrying forth my plans for a swift return to my lands and home…'

'Yes, yes,' muttered the noblemen. 'Get on with it, man.'

'Therefore,' continued the count, taking no heed of their impatience, 'my only interest is to see this city-this city whose freedom has exacted such a heavy price from us all, a price which we have all borne with…’

'Move on, move on,' murmured the voices.

'… price which we have all borne with selfless-nay, sacrificial -forbearance and endurance, counting the cost daily, not only in the material wealth granted us, but in the lives of our kinsmen, friends, and men at arms who follow

'For God's sake, get on with it!' shouted a nobleman from Bohemond's entourage.

Robert glared coldly at the man, and continued, 'My only interest is to see this city well provided with leadership, protection, and government, both temporally and spiritually, for the safety, not only of its citizens, but for the many pilgrims who will follow in our footsteps…'

'Hoo! Hoo!' bawled Bohemond's supporters, some of them banging on the board with the flat of their hands.

'Lords and noblemen!' barked Count Raymond, leaning forward sharply. 'This is not seemly. We are here to choose the next king of Jerusalem.'

'We are here to divide the plunder!' called a voice from among Baldwin's entourage.

'All in good time, my friend,' Raymond replied imperiously. 'Those who only care for the wealth of the world shall have their reward, but we will deal with higher things first.' Turning his approving gaze upon Robert, he said, 'Pray continue, my friend. We are listening.'

Robert, growing flustered by the repeated interruptions, decided to cut short his discourse, and strove resolutely towards the end. 'Therefore, I find it fitting that we should come together in the place where Our Lord rose from his grave, to assist in the resurrection of the Holy City, that from this day forth…'

'The king! The king!' shouted another of Bohemond's men. 'Who will be king?'

'Silence, everyone!' cried someone in Godfrey's camp. 'Or we will be at this all day!'

Robert, fumbling for words now, cut his losses and made a hasty retreat. 'To this end, I submit that we could not choose a better man to assume the throne of Jerusalem than Raymond, Count of Toulouse and Provence.' He sat down so quickly that it took a moment for the rest of the assembly to realize he had indeed finished.