Count Raymond was the eldest of the leaders, almost too old for warfare; but he had lavished his wealth on this Holy War, and preserved his dignity and independence in his dealings with the Greek Emperor; nor as yet had he tried to seize any castles for himself. For all this he was widely respected by the lesser knights.
Roger told his story briefly, and the Count considered for a moment; then he spoke:
“You are the peer in blood of Domna Anne de Clary, and I accept your word that you are free to marry. It is true that you have nothing at all, but many pilgrims are in the same condition. Do you acknowledge two things: that as she is the widow of my man the lady’s marriage belongs to me; and that neither she, nor any children she may bear in future, have a claim to the lands of Clary?”
Roger agreed, and a clerk put it in writing. “Then it seems there is no obstacle in the way. You may marry with my blessing.”
The Duke of Normandy’s consent was a formality; he gained ten crossbows and lost nothing. He was in a good temper after supper, and Roger realized how foolish he had been to ask for his release in the morning. It was arranged that a clerk from the Duke’s chapel should marry them in two days’ time, and the bridal pair were invited to sup at the Duke’s own table on their wedding night.
Roger could not sleep for thinking of the future. For weeks he had been deeply in love, and in two days that love would be satisfied. That was a glorious prospect. But he wondered uneasily whether he could cope with the purely social duties of a husband. Anne knew many ladies in the Provençal contingent; she would expect him to go visiting with her when the army halted; perhaps he might even have to compose verses. No, she could not expect that, for quite literally they did not speak the same language; that was a barrier between them, though it often happened when great lords made dynastic marriages. Anyone who spoke French could understand the langue d’Oc, and the other way round, so long as the conversation was confined to serious matters; the long abstract words were practically the same. But the jokes and catch-phrases were different; sometimes he had been disconcerted when, he quoted a well-known Norman proverb, and found she had never heard of it.
But these were slight matters. Anne was lovely, high-spirited and capable, the ideal wife for a landless adventurer on such an enterprise. He did not deserve her, but in future he would risk his life as rashly as any hero, and win fame on the battlefield. Their past acquaintance drifted through his mind, as he tried to make out why a lovely woman had chosen an undistinguished warrior like himself. That brought a disturbing suspicion. Obviously life was difficult for a virtuous widow, adrift without a protector in this lawless host; it was necessary for her to find a husband. He remembered the way she had looked at him, before accepting his proposal; had she been seeking any respectable man to take care of her, and decided after some hesitation that he would do? But he put the thought from his mind. She had shown by a thousand words and actions that she loved him truly, as the high-born princesses in the poems loved their lowly suitors; she was beautiful and kind, and in two days he would be holding her in his arms. At the thought of it he ached with longing and desire.
Next morning Domna Alice sat among the baggage, while he walked with his future bride. They told of their early lives, and he described his childhood in wooded Sussex, and the paradoxical peace of newly-conquered England, with its rebellious nobility and uncertain line of succession, controlled by the mighty king in Winchester. Anne had been born in a more stormy land, the youngest daughter of a small baron on the Provençal border of Aquitaine; her father had defied his lord, and was not sure of holding his lands; as a gesture of peace, he had married her to a middle-aged but loyal knight, a trusted castellan on the Spanish March. She had met Messer Giles de Clary for the first time on the day of their betrothal, and did not pretend that she had ever loved him. They had been married only a year, and most of her talk was of her childhood.
Until he set out on the Pilgrimage, Roger had been ruled by his elder brother, and the company of so many experienced warriors had increased his inborn feeling of inferiority. Now a number of people took his orders without argument, a novel and pleasing sensation. Anne was obviously happy and relieved, willing that he should shoulder her troubles. As he called to the driver to keep away from the edge of the road, and steered his lady over patches of loose stone, he felt his self-esteem growing in the most comforting manner.
He loved Anne, and would have married her if she were penniless. But he was a Norman, with a Norman passion to climb in the social scale, and this marriage would add to his importance. Ten crossbows would garrison a tower, if he could get hold of one; and there was wealth in the chariot, silver and weapons and fine clothes, though at present there was little he could buy with it. He was a very lucky man, who could follow his heart and still advance his prospects.
At sunrise they heard Mass and were married, in the tent that served as the Duke’s private chapel. A knight of Toulouse gave Anne away, in the name of his lord; and when it came to endowing his bride with gold and silver Roger produced a satisfactory handful, though it was all he possessed in the world. The Duke of Normandy was not present, for he disliked early rising, and often heard the morning Mass in his blankets; but he had paid the priest’s fee, and he sent a truly magnificent wedding-gift. This was a captured Turkish pony, an ugly little brute and quite untrained as a warhorse, but a comfortable ride on the march. So many horses were dead that this was a lavish piece of generosity, worthy of the Duke’s reputation as an open-handed spendthrift. Roger was married in full armour, for he had no other clothes. Anne wore her best gown, of close-fitting wine-red cloth, and Domna Alice attended her, showing suitable emotion. Immediately after breakfast the army marched, and Roger rode his new hackney among the Normans of Normandy.
That evening they supped in the highest place among the knights, just below the barons; the Duke was in a good humour, and sent down a big loving-cup for them to drink together. There were the usual ribald jokes, especially from the ladies; but Anne was a widow, and did not seem put out, although Roger blushed. The Duke made a speech, beginning by wishing them good fortune, and then wandering off into the difficulties of the campaign. They spent the wedding-night in the chariot, and Roger felt peaceful and secure for the first time since leaving England.
Next morning there was a crossbowman to wait on him, and Domna Alice heated wine to restore them, as was the custom. The army still marched through unending hills, and when the narrow way permitted he rode beside the chariot. It was long since he had taken a turn at scouting or foraging, but there was little need for it; the Greek and Armenian towns expelled their garrisons on the mere rumour of the pilgrims’ approach, food was given willingly, and here, in Cilicia, the inhabitants seemed not merely grateful for liberation, but eager that knights should stay behind to protect them. Roger rode happily beside his moving home, and the cross bowmen managed the hills without his supervision.
Speech was impossible above the noise of the chariot-wheels, but that evening they discussed the nebulous future, on which Anne held decided views.
“You know, Roger darling, it is possible to be too much in the power of your oaths. Other people don’t guide their conduct in the same way, and this is the world as we have to live in it. Could there be a more sacred promise than that we all gave, to live in peace with our fellow-pilgrims? Yet the Lotharingians and the Italians came to blows outside Mamistra. It was wrong, of course, but Tancred needs a county of his own, and so does Baldwin; and instead of being shocked, people admire their spirit. Your Duke is charming, but he hasn’t made a wonderful success of his life, has he? One could call him a landless man, for he will never turn his brother out; and you, darling, are his landless follower. You swore to serve him on the pilgrimage, but now that knights, and good knights too, are settling in this country, couldn’t we say that the pilgrimage is finished? You have a household to support, and you could provide for us better under another leader.”
“My darling,” said Roge
r gently, but with a frown, “an oath of fealty should be as sacred as a wedding-vow. But what should a woman know of the duties of a knight? Count Tancred is a brave warrior, I grant you, but all those Normans of Italy are a turbulent, forsworn gang of freebooters, and I believe the great Duke William would have nothing to do with them. In England we keep our vows. We should never have conquered the land otherwise, and in fact we got it by the judgement of Heaven, because Count Harold was an oath-breaker. Let me hear no more of this; the Duke is my lord, because I freely gave him my allegiance.”
“Very well, my dear. I am foolish to talk of these things, of which, as you say, a woman can know nothing. Tell me about the palaces of Italy. We went straight from Lombardy to the land of the Sclavonians, and never saw Rome.”
Roger did his best, for he had been impressed by the wonders of the Italian cities; but he was not naturally talkative. When it had been a question of making an impression on a beautiful lady he had racked his brains; but now Anne was his wife, he had won her until death should part them, and there was no need to woo her. Besides, he wanted to go to bed. By the second night of their marriage they were beginning to jar on one another.
A different spirit ran through the host, now they had passed the barren zone. Tancred was organizing Cilicia into a county, and Baldwin of Lotharingia was trying to do the same on the Euphrates. The land was rich enough to support a class of knights and nobles, and everyone was eager for a share. But the march continued. The battle of Dorylaeum had been fought on the 1st of July, and in September range after range of mountains still showed to the southeast. Then the chariot broke its back in a rocky ford of the Anti-Taurus. This might have been a terrible disaster, but in these Armenian lands the pilgrimage was accompanied by a crowd of merchants, and Roger was able to exchange the oxen and some of the heavy gear for a pair of riding-mules. He knew he was cheated, but there was no time to haggle.
Now Anne could ride beside him all day. He loved her companionship, but sometimes her talk angered him. She had not been convinced by his exposition of his duty, and continually tried to change his mind.
They passed a little town, perched on a shelf of the mountain-side; it was very small, but the walls were Roman limestone, clear cut and impregnable. Anne could not take her eyes off it.
“What a dear little town!” she began. “And what a fine dome over the church! I wonder how many people live there? Look, do you see a steep roof in the angle of the wall? That must be the hall of its ruler. The fathers of these Greeks were rich, to fortify a little town so strongly. I wonder why they built it there? Oh, because it overlooks the road. In Aquitaine they build castles by the road, and merchants pay a toll to the lord. Wouldn’t it be lovely to hold a town like that? Ten crossbowmen could defend the hall, and these Armenians will man the wall against infidels. The tolls would make you rich, and you could serve the Greek Emperor, or some Count of the pilgrims, whichever you preferred. Shall we make an excuse to stay behind, and try our luck when the army has passed?”
Roger did not interrupt; he was angry, and that made it all the more important that he should observe the courtesies. He was beginning to regret the privacy he had guarded all through the crowded march; he was not used to talking all day, and this temptation had been put very crudely.
“My darling, I am under oath to follow the Duke. People don’t always keep these promises, and I would not defend the Duke’s every action in his quarrel with the King of England; but he has treated me fairly. While I eat his bread, and ride his horse, I have no excuse to desert him.”
“Of course you are bound by your oath, and I could not love a husband who was forsworn. But that is a dear little town, all the same, and I hope we get something like it. Perhaps we can come back later, after we have won Antioch and freed these Christians of the East. Tell me, what do you think of these Easterners? They don’t seem the sort of people I would like to protect.”
“Quite true. They are not attractive people. They prefer to pay taxes instead of fighting; and I hear they take their disputes to a paid magistrate, instead of being judged by their equals in open court. They have no honour. But they asked for our help, and we shall get along with them somehow.”
It was true that some local Christians did not welcome the pilgrims. For thirty years they had been under infidel lords, who exacted heavy tribute but otherwise left them in peace; now they found themselves on a dangerous March, exposed once more to Turkish raids, and they preferred security to independence.
Anne was extremely capable on the march, always ready in time to start, knowing the whims of the mules, and able to keep the servants up to their work. At the same time she deferred charmingly to her husband’s judgement, though sometimes he wondered if this was only because she had been thoroughly trained in courtesy. All their disagreements ended in the same way; she would say prettily that it was the duty of a wife to obey, and that anyway a man knows best; but he had not really convinced her, and soon she would raise the same question again.
“Which lord will you follow, when at last Duke Robert goes home? Bohemund is a great warrior, but I don’t think he would treat his vassals well.”
“I don’t know the Count of Taranto well enough to drop his title, and I wish you wouldn’t,” Roger answered wearily. Was it going to start all over, again? “They say he has been promised Antioch, but he will have to provide for all the Normans of Italy. We might push on to Jerusalem, if anyone goes so far. We can make up our minds when the time comes.”
“Oh well, you know best. But I am sorry. This country is rich and full of strong castles; and the desert begins beyond Jerusalem. My father used to say that a vassal should strengthen himself, for that strengthens his lord; he is entitled to disregard commands that make him weak.”
“That is not how I was taught to keep faith.”
“It is only what father used to say, and of course it is you I obey now.… Wouldn’t the Duke be pleased if you had more men? We have money, and if you gave some to the groom he might buy horses; then you could lend them to your friends, and have knights to follow you. We should be quite important.”
“It would be pleasant to have knights to follow us, but you know as well as I do that no pilgrim has a horse to spare. You really want Mark to steal horses, by bribing some other groom. That would be against the laws of the host, besides being wrong in itself. Never mention such an idea again. In battle I may win some Turkish ponies; if not, we must continue as we are. Remember, Our Lady had only a donkey, and Saint Joseph walked.”
“As you did, dear Roger, before we were married. In truth horses are rare in this country. Yet all the Greek soldiers outside Nicaea were mounted; why can’t they send us theirs? What has become of our gallant allies?”
“Their Emperor has taken them off to Caria and Lydia, to win the towns he lost twenty years ago. We can manage without him, and it all helps the Christians of the East.”
“The poor dear Christians of the East! Of course we must help them. But I wish their horses would stray.”
Anne’s malicious grin was so attractive that Roger’s heart was softened. In his plodding, literal mind he was often puzzled whether to take seriously her infamous proposals. He was glad that she was only joking. Women were mysterious creatures, and from the pulpit you always heard that they were more wicked than men. Perhaps they all talked like that in her castle at home; he must make allowances, but his point of view was more in keeping with a Holy Pilgrimage. The trouble was that Anne did not think of it as a holy pilgrimage, but as an expedition of conquest, on an equal footing with the winning of Sicily. He could not say she was badly brought up, for she was charming, discreet and outwardly extremely obedient to her husband; none the less, her parents had given her wrong ideas, and he would have to instil his own principles into her mind. He was nineteen, and that is the priggish age.
Domna Alice might be a bad influence. She was fond of Anne, and wished her to be rich and successful; possibly she encouraged these predatory sugges
tions. Altogether, the woman was a burden. It looked as though she would be with them for life; she was too old for marriage, and there were no nunneries in the Eastern world where she could be packed off with a corrody. He resolved to have a talk with her.
The opportunity came at Michaelmas, when the pilgrims halted to celebrate the feast. After Mass Anne went to play blind man’s buff with the young ladies, and the more fashionable knights; the game was all the rage in France, but Domna Alice was too old, and Roger, who had to wear armour to appear well-dressed, would not play in a mail shirt. He took the waiting-lady for a walk, and found her talkative.
“When my husband was killed in Spain I was left very badly off. Messer Odo is my cousin, and he gave me hospitality as waiting-lady to his four daughters; little Anne is the youngest, and she was the last to marry. That wedding was a sad business! Poor cousin Odo was in a fix, for we had been raiding once too often; and Messer Giles had influence with the Count. We had to make peace before the castle was besieged. Messer Giles managed that, in return for a young maiden with a dowry in cash. He was preparing for this pilgrimage, and he was so high in the Count’s favour that he would have gone far if he had lived.”
“Why was Messer Odo in such an unfortunate position? Did he often wage war without leave of his lord?”
“His whole life was spent in war, and sometimes the Count wanted peace. Besides, the merchants complained of his tolls, and a Bishop excommunicated him for sacrilege. My poor cousin had a great many difficulties, and his friends did not stand by him.”
This sketch of his father-in-law’s activities explained a good deal about Anne. But many a disturber of the peace could argue his own conscience into approval, and Roger wished to know more about Messer Odo’s way of life.
Knight with Armour Page 10
