Knight with Armour

by Alfred Duggan

  “Yes, the sea bounds every land. But I was forgetting. Alice, this knight helped us when the crowd would have overturned the chariot. We must repay his kindness. Get out the chest with my husband’s clothes. We can at least give you a clean shirt, and some thinner chausses. Of course you must take them. Presently, when you have taken others from the infidel, you can give them back, if you like. A towel also, and blankets. It is ridiculous that I should carry a knight’s baggage while you have nothing.”

  Roger did not attempt to refuse her generosity. One reason for his loneliness had been shame at his personal appearance. Soon the chariot came to a rise, and he got out to spare the oxen; but for the rest of the day he walked beside it, and when they halted in the evening he brought his armour from the baggage-cart.

  He made up his bed in unaccustomed luxury. He had been long enough in the field to live from day to day, and to seize every chance of comfort as it came. But he was surprised to find, as he composed himself for sleep, that he thought of Domna Anne not merely as a timely provider of bedding and clean linen, but as a delightful companion.

  Next morning he sought out the chariot, and greeted the ladies as old friends. There was plenty to talk about, as they skirted at a safe distance the closed gates of Iconium.

  “Isn’t it wonderful to think of that ridiculous King of the Turks gnashing his teeth in there, unless he has fled to the desert he came from,” said Anne cheerfully. “The Greek Emperor will be annoyed that we are leaving the city uncaptured, but who cares? We need a land with plenty of castles, not this sea of burnt grass, without peasants to till it. Have you learnt our future plans, Messer Roger? Giles would have found a way over the wall of Iconium. He was a marvel on a scaling-ladder, although he couldn’t ride.”

  Roger was a little shocked. It was right that a freshly bereaved widow should talk of her husband, for he must be continually in her thoughts; but her references seemed to lack respect. He kept the conversation to matters of business.

  “Since we are leaving Iconium untaken in our rear, and there is no food in this part of Galatia, we shall have to get supplies by sea. Soon we must turn south and occupy a harbour.”

  “And then I shall find a ship to take me home. Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

  That was a tiresome trait in the character of this beautiful lady, Roger reflected; in Sussex no one spoke except to convey information, or to ask a question; these southern ladies made conversation into a game, a game he did not understand. They seemed to have a limitless appetite for compliments; composing them on the spur of the moment made him stutter, and no one was any wiser at the end of it all. However, he mumbled something in north French, which she did not understand fluently, and was pleased at the smile he received in reply. The trouble was that he wanted to be near her and to hear her speak, and yet he could not think of anything to say. Sometimes he walked in front, and helped the crossbowman to manage the oxen, but then he felt he was wasting a golden opportunity; soon he would be back at the tailboard, racking his brains for a pretty speech. He measured the day’s march by stages; when we pass that rock I shall fall back and admire her kerchief, then at the rough place half a mile on I shall move up and twist the tail of the leading ox. It seemed to have been arranged that he should manage the chariot.

  By afternoon the mountains showed like a wall in the south-east, though no doubt a pass would appear when they were closer. The oxen strained at the first long rise, and both ladies got out to walk. Here the ground was damp; the grass had not burned, and there was less dust; it was pleasant to walk with a lady on either side, even at the maddening mile-an-hour pace of the tired oxen.

  Domna Alice was apprehensive when she saw the tumbled blue-grey ridges ahead. Her fears made her forget that she was only there to preserve the proprieties:

  “More mountains! Anne dear, do you think it will be like the terrible country of the Sclavonians? You have no idea, Messer Roger, what we endured in that barbarous land. As soon as we slid down one precipice we had to start climbing the next. And the inhabitants! They are called Christians, but they had no respect for the Holy Pilgrimage. They hurled rocks from the cliffs, and murdered the stragglers. Other pilgrims went round that country by sea, and I think our Count was wrong to take us through it.”

  “It was a very bad time,” said Anne with a shudder, “but I am proud that we Provençals accomplished what no other knights in Christendom dared even to attempt. It must be more honourable to ride straight to your goal than to put yourself in the hands of a gang of barefooted sailors, separated from your horses, at the mercy of every wind. The Count of Toulouse has made war on the infidel for twenty years, and he rides where he wills.”

  Anne threw back her head as she spoke, and her eyes had the hard look of a warrior peering over the shield-rim. But Roger would not let it be thought the Normans had chosen an easier route for fear of naked barbarians.

  “Our Duke wished to bring all his power to Romania, without losing horses by the way; and we took oath not to make war on Christians during the journey. Besides, we are accustomed to seafaring. My father was a conqueror of England; that is an island, and they went in ships. They landed on a hostile shore, dismounted, with every warhorse unsaddled in the holds. That was gambling against odds!”

  “Of course, it takes courage to venture on the sea, far from land, as you did when crossing from Italy to Romania,” said Alice, in a soothing tone; she was old enough to be bored by the boasting matches of the young. “But these mountains will be difficult. Are there any weak spots in the chariot?”

  Roger walked round the rough, sturdily-built vehicle, examining the wheels and axletrees; when he came back to his companions they talked of other things.

  It was a new experience for him, this making conversation and changing the subject when there was disagreement. He found it a strain on the mind, but amusing; these southerners had made an art of companionship, and the weary routine of marching passed more quickly than if you merely exchanged information, and contradicted every statement with which you did not agree. But what should be the next move in the game? Apparently every knight who spoke to a lady must imply that he was dying for love of her. In Sussex such expressions might be taken at their face value, but Domna Anne would not mistake them. He gathered that she had been married to an elderly stranger, to fit in with a plan of her father’s; therefore marriages in Provence were arranged on the same commonsense lines as in England; she would not take him seriously. Besides, he was absurdly presumptuous; a young widow had taken pity on a dismounted knight; there was nothing more in it than that. A landless man from barbarous England would only make himself ridiculous if he went about thinking ladies valued his devotion. He ought to march in some other part of the column, before people began to gossip. But that would be giving up a harmless pleasure. Anne was an amusing companion, full of unconventional opinions wittily expressed; talking to her was a little frightening, but even the fear was pleasurable, like riding a horse that was just too hot to hold. While she wanted a man to look after her chariot he would stay with her; all too soon they would be parted, in this confused throng of many tongues.

  That evening he walked over to the Italian cooking-fires; there he found Robert de Santa Fosca, sitting with his hauberk on his knee, mending a thong. He seemed glad to see a visitor.

  “There you are, cousin. I heard you had joined a young lady. All the better if you are alone, for I have a proposition. Come for a walk, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  He led Roger aside, and began to explain.

  “So far we have marched through a desert, with nothing in it but Turks and sheep. But among these mountains things are different; Christians still live there, and though they pay tribute to the Turks they are good fighting-men. Armenians they are called, and they have their own church, quite distinct from the Greeks. Some of their leaders joined us outside Nicaea, and the Count of Taranto has kept in touch with them ever since. Well, the scheme is this: the Turks are afraid, and a
nyway their horse-archers are no good on a mountainside. Young Count Tancred, Taranto’s nephew, is raising a force to go into the hills, chase out the Turks, and set up a county of his own. Will you join us?”

  “I have no horse,” said Roger, “and that puts it out of the question.”

  “Never mind. We shall be storming cities and climbing mountains, which means fighting on foot; we can fix you up with a pack-horse to ride on the march. Do come; and if you can bring some crossbows so much the better; they are useful in sieges.”

  “It sounds attractive,” said Roger. “I suppose we take an oath to Count Tancred, and he gives us land if we succeed? At the moment I am still under oath to the Duke, but I will see him to-morrow, and ask him to release me.”

  Robert gave an impatient shrug. “You seem to attach too much importance to this oath. That isn’t how we won Italy, with no help from our own Duke. Count Tancred won’t bother to take an oath from you; we follow him because he is a warrior, and he keeps us in order with his sword. But see the Duke in the morning, and let me know your answer to-morrow. The more we are, the more land we shall conquer. Now tell me about this young lady.”

  Roger had little to say, except that she was a lady, and always had her waiting-lady with her. He did not realize that the quickest way of starting scandal is to protest that the conventions are observed.

  Next morning he waited on the Duke. He could not have chosen a worse day. There had been rain in the night, and the pavilion leaked; breakfast was scanty, and the shortage of wine frayed tempers accustomed to deep drinking. The Duke was famous for courtesy to his followers, but he was weak, and like other weak men enjoyed putting his foot down. He sat behind his trestle-board, with a clerk beside him, and frowned at Roger.

  “So you want to recover the fealty you gave me in Normandy. You don’t say where you intend to carry your service, but I suppose you want to go plundering with those Italians, who should be my subjects. Let us see how we stand. (Clerk, take this down.) You were not born my man, and joined me for the Pilgrimage, which makes you free when I go home. From Nicaea you have fought for your keep, but if you want freedom now you must pay for your food and forage in Burgundy and Italy. I did not pledge my land to bring men here for the Count of Taranto. You can pay the money, or stay with me; and whichever you choose will be written down. If you desert I shall have you cried through the camp as an oath-breaker, and your family will find me a bad neighbour when I get home.”

  There was no more to be said; Roger could not pay for eight months’ food. He bowed, and left the pavilion.

  When the march began, up a steep rise which the paved road attacked in zigzags, he walked with the two ladies. He was discreet about Count Tancred’s proposed expedition, but otherwise he told them the whole story. Domna Alice agreed that the Duke had been harsh, but said that he was within his rights; the solution was for Roger to get money at the next sack to pay his debt. Anne thought he had been too conscientious.

  “You are a good young man, to be so true to your oath, like the paladins of Charlemagne. Do oaths hold good all over the world? Here in the East no one would know what you are talking about. If you win a little castle you could commend it to the Greek Emperor, and hold it against any pilgrim; poor Giles discussed doing that, if our Count didn’t give him what he wanted. But, of course, we had a castle at home, and were used to the idea of defiance. You knights from open manors get in the habit of obeying your lords, and then you are imposed on.”

  “That may be true,” he answered, “but my father was a conqueror of England. What would he think of a son who left his lord in the field? One day the Duke will go home, and I shall remain; then I can set up for myself.”

  “Spoken like a true knight!” she smiled. “And now, sir, will you see that they lock a wheel of the chariot before we begin this descent.” Though he was the elder by two years, Anne sometimes spoke as though he were a child.

  These were the mountains of Lesser Armenia, settled not long before by exiles from the plains dominated by Turkish horse. On the hilltops were walled towns, and the few Turkish tribute-gatherers fled at the pilgrims’ approach, while the townspeople opened their gates. Still, there were difficulties; horses continued to die, and in many places the Armenians set up lords of their own, instead of showing gratitude to the host that had marched so far to free them. They seemed to be as independent as the Greeks, and as attached to their absurd religious practices. Roger wondered if the Christians of the East really wanted Western help. Easterners, whether Christian or infidel, got on well enough together; they were used to buying land and selling it, and paying taxes in money to a distant tyrant, rather than inheriting from their fathers and doing service with their swords. One day he mentioned his doubts to Father Yves, the Breton priest who had absolved him in the battle. The priest was interested; it was a point that had not occurred to him, and he enjoyed thinking out new situations.

  “At present the Eastern world is held together by money. That is the old way of doing things, as it was at the Incarnation; then there were soldiers and centurions and tax-gatherers, as you have heard in the Gospel at Mass. Now we Westerners have found a better way, with oaths and services taking the place of perpetual payments of money; when we have shown it to these poor foreigners they will see it is better, since all men are brothers and they are at bottom the same as us. As for religion, they are ignorant and oppressed. When they understand the position of the Pope they will obey him like reasonable Christians.”

  It sounded very simple, and Roger looked to the future in a hopeful spirit. He saw himself as not merely a champion of the Faith, but a missionary of a more decent way of life in this world.

  Meanwhile there was his friendship with Anne de Clary. As a matter of course, he now walked beside her chariot on each day’s march; though since they drew their food from different sources, and to avoid scandal, they separated when they reached camp. But the evenings were dull without her, and each night he looked forward to the toils of the next day in a manner that would have surprised his weary and footsore companions.

  He was content to go on for ever in his present mode of life, gazing all day on her beauty, and occasionally provoking her to conversation for the pleasure of hearing her voice. He put from his thoughts all hope of greater intimacy. He was still a landless man, with nothing to offer; in any case, marriage did not occur because two people were attracted to one another; it was arranged by the parents to unite neighbouring estates, or to gain an ally. The thought of seduction never entered his head; Provençal ladies had been known to take lovers, but there was no reason that she should choose him. He had disgraced his knighthood in his first battle (the anguished face of Hugh de Dives, abandoned among the infidel recurred frequently in his dreams), and he was not handsome or amusing. He must enjoy this exquisite but transient pleasure; it was foolish to inquire how long it would continue.

  Nevertheless, as no man can forbear to press on an aching tooth so he must find out how long he would enjoy Anne’s company. Tarsus had fallen, and there were rumours of Western ships on the coast. But it was late in the season to start a voyage, as she pointed out.

  “I haven’t made up my mind. I should like to complete the pilgrimage; we shall probably keep Christmas in Jerusalem, and ther I can decide. I am in no hurry to be home. Giles’s land goes to a cousin, since I am childless; my dowry is spent, and my father would not give me another. Here I am with ten crossbows and a good chariot, and in Provence I would not have so much.”

  “You have also one knight to serve you, though a horseless one,” said Roger, in what he hoped was a gallant tone; French was not the language for these expressions.

  “Thank you, Messer Roger, but you are mistaken. While you are bound to the Duke of Normandy I have not one knight.”

  An idea awoke in Roger’s mind. Anne thought him unnecessarily scrupulous in his fidelity; but suppose that was because she did not want to lose him? After several weeks she was still not tired of him; perhaps she
really liked him, as a person. Yet to make a definite declaration of love was to run an appalling risk. If she were offended, worse still if she laughed at him, the companionship of the march would be ended. But a true knight never shirks a crisis. He gulped, and went red to the roots of his hair. Then, forgetting Domna Alice, who was listening with interest by his other shoulder, he spoke in a husky voice:

  “Domna, I am on God’s holy service, and I owe a duty to my lord. But after those I serve you. I have nothing to offer save my sword, but if you will be my wife I shall win land, and maintain my lady against the infidel.”

  She looked at him steadily, from his patched shoes to the helm, too large without its hauberk, that wobbled on his head. Then she laughed happily.

  “That was a very Norman way of saying it, dear Roger. You must never propose marriage to anyone else, but if you should, take care not to put the lady in third place. None the less, I will be your wife, and serve you faithfully, as you shall serve me.” This last sentence sounded formal, but Roger knew that the acceptance of an offer of marriage was an extremely formal undertaking; no doubt she had used the same words when she accepted Giles de Clary. She held out her hand. In that throng of strangers he was too shy to kneel; clumsily, as they walked, he bent his head over it. Domna Alice had witnessed everything, and now they were as formally betrothed as though parchments had been exchanged. It was not a contract recognized by the Church, and if they anticipated the religious ceremony they would be committing grievous sin; but in law they were bound, at least not to wed another.

  Then Anne held up her face to be kissed, and told Alice to go back to the chariot; there were congratulations from the crossbow-men, and from other pilgrims. The day passed in a dream, as they walked hand in hand, and spoke of the splendid life they would lead together in some castle of the East.

  At night there were practical arrangements to be made. Roger knew that his father would never learn of the marriage; but if parental consent was out of the question it was still his duty to inform their separate lords. He asked for an interview at the pavilion of the Count of Toulouse. When the Count had finished supper he was admitted, and stood before his chair.