Knight with Armour

by Alfred Duggan

  “England is a peaceful country; only great lords have castles, and my father lives on an open manor. But I know things are different in the south. I suppose Messer Odo would only fight in a righteous cause? There are robber-knights in the world, but they don’t have well-behaved daughters.”

  “My cousin was not a robber; he never took anything that was not his own, even though he had to raid for it. You see, there were disputes about the boundary of the fief, and those wicked Aquitanians would not render service. Merchants ought to pay toll to the-knights who guard the roads, and it is cheating his vassals when the Count grants them free passage. The trouble with the Bishop was a misunderstanding; some monks owed service, but they denied it, and their monastery caught fire during the argument. Yet our castle was respectable. Little Anne was strictly brought up, and even when we were excommunicate Father John offered Mass in the chapel every day.”

  “He should not have done that. I know, since my brother suffered the same misfortune.”

  “He did, all the same. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Messer Odo. I wonder what became of the poor man; the Bishop had him in prison when we left. But it shows the castle was properly run; you need have no anxiety about the virtue of Domna Anne.”

  “I am not anxious on that subject,” said Roger, stiffly, “but her childhood was unlike mine. Now I see why she is so eager to win a castle in these mountains, and live by raiding her neighbours. But I don’t like raiding, and I doubt if I should be any good at it. I want you to speak to my lady privately. Remind her that, for women at least, peace can be better than war; and that one way of getting on in the world is to keep sworn engagements. Tell her, if you like, that we have had a talk, and that you are obeying my instructions.”

  He thought Anne would heed advice from the waiting-lady, even if she rejected the counsel of her young and untried husband. As for Domna Alice, she must obey him or be turned adrift; there was no oath between them.

  Dinner was a happy picnic. It was long since the pilgrims had enjoyed a hot meal in the middle of the day, and all were in holiday mood. In the afternoon there was a little half-hearted jousting, though the trained warhorses were too precious to be risked in hard courses. Roger did not compete. He sat on the ground, with his wife beside him, and watched the sport.

  Anne had been playing “Hot Cockles”, and other games that involved smacks on the behind; and she sat carefully. But the exercise, and even the bruises, had brought a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes; she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. But presently the happiness died out of her face; she shivered slightly, and spoke:

  “We used to watch jousts at home. How long ago that seems! Shall we march through these mountains for another year?”

  “I don’t know, my darling, nor does anyone else in the pilgrimage. But we shall probably halt when Antioch is won.” Roger had never before seen his wife depressed; he spoke his mind, without thinking of her fears. She was angry at his indifference.

  “You don’t understand,” she answered unhappily. “You travelled through peaceful Italy, and wintered with your cousins; when at last you reached Romania there was a treaty with the Emperor. But we marched through the mountains of the Sclavonians; it was autumn, and the torrents were full. The mountaineers rolled great boulders down at us, we were always hungry and cold, and the horses were lamed by the rocks. When we reached Romania the Greeks treated us as enemies, and we had to pillage or starve. I have been among bitter foes since we left Lombardy—and Giles is dead—and we grow fewer every day—and each step takes us farther from Provence.”

  She sobbed, and Roger had no idea how to comfort her. But there was a bright side, and he tried to put it.

  “This land is hostile now, my sweet, but that will soon be altered. When all the pilgrims are settled in their castles this will be a second France. The Turks are afraid to face us, and the stone walls of these cities will keep them out. Now forget your fears, and watch that fat Brabançon fall off his horse when he meets our Norman.”

  “Of course I’m not afraid. I am a baron’s daughter! It’s just that we are so far from home.” She spoke in short gulps. “I am miserable, too, because of what Alice has told me. She says you think I am a pagan, and that my father’s castle was a den of thieves. We only defended ourselves against our enemies. And I am not excommunicate now, whatever happened to father years ago. Poor Giles arranged things when I was betrothed to him. And what do you mean by complaining to my waiting-lady, behind my back?”

  Roger fought down a feeling of exasperation; his wife could change in a breath from a frightened child to a lady standing on her dignity, and he must answer both at once. But perhaps he was in the wrong, and he smiled as he spoke in a humble voice:

  “Please, darling, don’t imagine I think of your family. Your father is a conscientious man who stands up for his rights, and I dare say the Count was at fault. You were brought up a good Christian, and Domna Alice tells me you never missed Mass. I love and respect you, and I know you are as brave as one of your birth should be. Now do stop crying, and look at the joust.”

  The appeal to pride of race did not fail. She hiccupped, and set her lips into a wavering smile.

  “Oh dear, this journey has got on my nerves, and when we do have a holiday I waste it in tears! Alice is a stupid old woman and I expect she misunderstood what you said. I shall be quite safe with you to protect me, and all these brave knights. But they are not so many as they used to be. Is the army getting smaller? I notice it now we are all in one place.”

  “Armies grow smaller every day, I suppose,” he answered, with a frown; he had noticed it also. “People die of disease, and others desert, like my Godric at Nicaea. You know I started with two men and three horses? But there are plenty of brave knights left. Soon we shall be riding round our own fields.”

  That completed Anne’s recovery; she could not be unhappy when she thought of the fief that would soon be hers. Next time she spoke it was about the points of a horse in the joust.

  Roger remained uneasy. Nothing could alter Anne’s opinion that this Holy Pilgrimage was a device for endowing all the landless knights of the West, however she might acquiesce when he spoke of their duty to the Christians of the East. As for her fears, they were a passing fancy; all the pilgrims were in great danger, and had been since they left Europe, and they must get used to facing it.

  He loved his wife, but he was happier when he was not called upon to talk with her. Other men did not listen politely to female advice. But then his marriage had been unusual, for he was in love with his wife. All round him were the best trouvères of the West, and they sang of Love nearly as often as they sang of War; but never of love between husband and wife. It was a most unlikely subject, in a world where marriages were arranged by the parents for financial or diplomatic reasons. The conventions of courtesy enforced certain forms of politeness on the man, which disguised the real subjection of the woman; but they had met as strangers, and reasonable couples planned their lives so as not to interfere with the privacy of the other partner. Roger rode all day beside his wife, shared her bed at night, and was hardly ever out of reach of her voice. Life would have been more enjoyable if she had been content with his company in silence.

  As they approached Antioch the pace grew slower. The road was even steeper than before, and parties of infidel horse hovered in the path of the advance. Roger was ordered to ride in the van, with other knights mounted on local ponies. They were called Turco-poles, since they were supposed to fight in the Turkish fashion; their shields and lances were left with the baggage, and they carried short bows. They were incapable of shooting behind them, or even to the right, as the Turks could; but their armour was arrow-proof, and the enemy, not realizing their limitations, kept at a respectful distance.

  The host was stronger than it had been; many local Christians joined the foot, and small detachments of knights and crossbowmen returned from Cilicia, now safely garrisoned by Count Tancred, and
even from Baldwin’s tentative and half-conquered county of Edessa. A decisive battle was imminent, and every pilgrim gathered for the final effort.

  On the 19th of October Roger rode back to camp at sunset. All day scattered Turks had ridden before the advance, just out of arrow range; now the local Christians took over piquet duty, and the Turcopoles were free until the morrow. Anne always chose a good place for the night, and he quickly found the little fire, near the kitchen and out of the wind. As he dismounted someone called his name, from the confusion of the crowded road. It was his cousin, Robert de Santa Fosca, wearing a long tunic of red silk, and looking sleek and prosperous.

  “Welcome, cousin,” called Roger in great delight. He was always glad to pick out a familiar face in the noisy anonymous crowd. But as they embraced he recollected himself. He envied Robert, who had left the army to better himself, yet he despised him as one who had chosen the easier service; he forgot that he had wanted to go too, and only remembered that he had done his duty. He meant to be stern with the shirker, but his voice betrayed his affection. “Welcome cousin. What a beautiful tunic, and how well you fill it. I see you have not gone hungry. I also have won a prize in this campaign. Domna de Bodeham, may I present to you my cousin from Italy, Robert de Santa Fosca. Robert, this is Domna Anne de la Roche, my wife.”

  Robert kissed her on the cheek, as a cousin should.

  “How delightful, Domna, to meet a beautiful lady in these desolate wastes. You must tell me your adventures. But perhaps French is not your language? Do you prefer Italian?” For Anne had been listening to his quickly-spoken words with a slight frown of concentration. “Ah, you were bred in Provence, the land of poets. Well, I can speak a little in that tongue also. But how do you manage, Roger, or are you a silent and masterful lord?”

  He had hit on a sore point. Many Frenchmen of the north could speak the langue d’Oc, the most elegant language for love-making and poetry, and Roger always felt a little boorish when he failed to understand a phrase; but it was his wife’s duty to learn the language of her husband. He was determined not to be left out of the talk, and he interrupted in slow clear north French:

  “We had no adventures. We stayed with the host, and that means hard marching and scanty food. Tell us instead about Count Tancred, and how you won that silk tunic. You have been conquering counties and delivering cities while we plodded through these hills.”

  Robert settled himself, hand on hip and leg out-thrust, like a trouvère beginning a poem.

  “We delivered cities, all right; but some of them did not welcome us as deliverers. Can you imagine four men playing chess on the same board, each against the other three? There were the Turks and the Armenians and the Lotharingians and us. The wretched Turks didn’t stand a chance; all they thought of was surrendering to some Westerner who would protect them from the local Christians. Count Tancred led us first to Tarsus, where the infidel garrison were quite willing to hand over the town, though we were only a hundred knights; but Count Baldwin turned up with a much larger force, five hundred knights at least. The Turks galloped away in the dark, and the local inhabitants manned the wall. They would have liked to set up an Armenian lord, but there were too many Western knights about, so they began to treat with the weaker side, which was us; but Count Baldwin threatened to besiege the town if we occupied it, so we very sensibly retired. Next we tried Adana, but the Turks fled too soon, and the Armenians wouldn’t let us in. At Mamistra the Turks lingered, and ran out of one gate as we got in by another; as we were settling down Count Baldwin came up, and began to shoot arrows at the wall; but that was really going too far, and his own men cried shame. In the end we made a treaty; we were out numbered, but we were behind stone walls, and Count Baldwin left us in possession. Now Count Tancred is lord of Skanderoon, and the Lotharingians will set up their county at Edessa when it surrenders.”

  “It does not sound like a pilgrimage,” said Roger, slowly, “but at least you made peace before the fighting had gone too far. I am glad my Duke was not mixed up in it.”

  “What strikes me,” said Anne, “is that the Turks ran away wherever you went. Those towns could have been held for a long time. Our troubles are over; we have only to walk up against Antioch and Jerusalem, and then settle down to grow rich.”

  “I hope so, Domna,” Robert answered. “But the local Christians say Antioch is stronger than any city that we have seen, and the Turks are gathering to hold it. They don’t know how far we mean to chase them, and they feel they must make a stand somewhere. The leaders should send word to them that Antioch is the end of our journey; they might give it up quietly if they could keep the rest of Syria.”

  “We can’t do that,” Roger put in. “Too many pilgrims want to go on to Jerusalem; and how can the leaders stop us while there is land for the taking?”

  “No,” said Anne, “this army will never halt so long as the infidels run away. Anyway, we need land, though I hope Roger’s castle will not be right on the March.”

  “I understand, Domna,” said Robert with a smile. “Near enough to raid the enemy, but far enough back for your own cattle to graze in the open. That is the right position for a castle.”

  “Quite so, but I have no castle,” said Roger. “And unless we see more fighting I may never be given one. In the end I may guard the walls of Jerusalem, for whichever lord rules there.”

  “That would be a noble occupation,” said Robert politely, “though not well paid. But I must get back to supper. No, I won’t stay. You can’t feed chance guests on these rations. Perhaps I can dine with you later, when we are halted in fertile country.”

  He swaggered away, swinging his tunic.

  “A handsome scoundrel,” said Anne, looking after him. “But those Normans from Italy are the worst brigands unhung. I wonder how he came by those silken clothes?”

  “He is, after all, my cousin,” said Roger mildly. “He talks a lot of wild nonsense, but I think it is only talk. They led a very unsettled life in Italy.”

  “Whereas you were brought up on your father’s unwalled manor. But that is the type who will prosper here. You heard what he said about an agreement with the infidels; Bohemund leads the other leaders, and that young man has heard a rumour of negotiations. We must get a castle at once, before it’s too late.”

  “My dear Anne,” Roger spoke mildly, and forced himself to smile; but he was very weary of this topic, “if no one gives me land we can live in a town; my father would see no disgrace in that, whatever they think in Provence. Or I can defend Jerusalem. That would be almost the same as entering religion; I would fight no one except infidels, and it would be an honourable livelihood.”

  “It may come to that, but it is not an occupation for the husband of a de la Roche. While there is no fighting you have no chance of making a name. Can’t you do something about it? Get into a skirmish when you are scouting, and kill a few Turks. You are drifting, my darling; you do your duty, but you don’t look for a chance of distinction. You are too honest to take a castle by force, and we won’t go into all that again. Now try to earn one.”

  She looked at him with the conventional languishing appeal of a lady begging her knight to perform an exploit. It seemed odd, coming from his own wife; but then he was husband and lover combined.

  “Very well, sweetheart. To-morrow I shall try and catch up the infidels who watch the advance. I might kill a few; but I may lose my only horse, and the Duke would not give me another.”

  He was nervous that night, and slept badly. He had taken part in one great victory, and the advance had continued unopposed for so long that everyone despised the Turks. But he could not forget the despairing face of Hugh de Dives.

  Next day the infidels hung more closely round the Turcopoles. They were only a day’s march from Antioch, and the enemy wanted information about the numbers and composition of the army. Roger edged his pony to the front; he had never used a bow, except the toy with which children scared birds, but it seemed fairly easy to shoot to h
is left front, and his mount had been trained to carry an archer; it trotted straight, and did not shy at the twang of the bowstring. Presently he took a long shot at a solitary Turk, and missed. He cantered forward and dismounted to pick up the shaft, for he had only ten in his quiver. As he bent down, an arrow whacked against the skirt of his mail, and another passed below the belly of his pony. Two Turks had ridden out from behind a rock; they knew Western mail, and had aimed at his legs and his horse. He threw himself across the saddle and urged the pony to a gallop. The Turks did not pursue, for he was riding straight to the main army; but it had been a narrow shave. He was not going to risk being dismounted with a battle in prospect, and for the rest of the day he rode in line.

  As he rode back that evening, trying to compose an explanation of his failure that would satisfy his wife, he met a small body of knights setting out to drive away the lingering Turkish scouts. Among them he recognized his cousin; Robert still had his European warhorse; he wore high Greek riding-boots and a red linen cloak over his armour; his horse was fat, and his helm polished. So that was how a knight fared who followed Count Tancred for his private gain, while those who were true to their lords rode untrained ponies and ate dry biscuit in the saddle. Roger decided that he had a grievance against the world, and therefore he might righteously be angry with Anne.

  But Domna Alice was helping her mistress to heat supper when he arrived, and he could not lose his temper before her. Also Anne was looking even more charming than usual, with a gay silk kerchief that he had never seen before. It suited her golden face, and she was evidently very pleased with it.

  “I see you have a new headdress,” he said at last. “I hope it was not expensive. You know I must save to buy a proper warhorse if we are to get on.”

  “Oh, I didn’t buy this. Your cousin gave it to me when we halted for dinner. He said he owed me a wedding-gift. It’s handsome, don’t you think? Of course, he got it off a Turk, but it was woven by the Greeks.”