Knight with Armour

by Alfred Duggan

  “He is a very much sterner leader out here,” answered Roger. “He governs more strictly on this pilgrimage than he ever did as ruler of Normandy. Unfortunately, I asked him to release me in the autumn, when I was getting married, and he refused. If I ask again the answer will probably be no, and if I leave him after that it is open rebellion.”

  “Then why not rebel,” put in Anne, “and get as many landless knights as possible to follow you? What could he do? You have no manor to be harried, and if they refuse us food in the host we can seize a castle, and live on our plunder. But probably the Italians would be glad to have us.”

  “I certainly shall not do that, and Father Yves must agree that it would be wrong. We don’t want the pilgrimage to dissolve into robber bands, though perhaps the Count of Taranto would not mind if it did.”

  “Messer Roger is right,” said the priest. “The Duke has brought you here, which is all he promised to do in return for your service. He never guaranteed you a castle, and you should not leave him while he fulfills his obligations. We are eighteen months’ journey from home, among strangers whose laws and customs are quite unfathomable; unless we obey our own Western customs, which we understand, the army will become a leaderless mob. We are not Greeks, whose rulers fight among themselves for the throne, and perhaps that is why we have come so far.”

  “I think that is absurdly scrupulous,” Anne said angrily. “Father Yves says we ought to rule this country, and you want a castle to live in. Yet you won’t do anything about it. You should listen to me, and remember that a man’s first duty is to provide for his own family.”

  “You are forgetting your duty yourself,” Father Yves said sternly. “A wife must submit to her husband, since women, by the natural weakness of their minds, cannot understand the workings of human law. My advice is that you must obey the Duke as long as he supports you, and there is no more to be said.”

  Anne was silent. When men began to talk of the natural inferiority of women, every sensible wife knew she has been too clever, and that someone might take a stick to her unless she kept quiet.

  For the rest of January the siege dragged on, if such it could be called when no harm was done to the enemy. The miserable allowance of food was still distributed by the Count of Blois, and in the absence of any hope of success, this alone kept the army together. Horses continued to die, and the shortage of baggage-animals had made the whole host immobile, so that for the poor there was no way of retreat. The garrison of Antioch still pastured their horses outside the wall, in spite of Count Tancred’s fort, and received supplies of provisions through the unblocked gates of Saint George and Saint Paul. At the end of the month disquieting rumours were brought in by the country-people; the Turks of Syria were gathering an army of relief. The pilgrims were really in no condition to fight, but without transport it would be a disaster to abandon the camp, and in any case it would be dangerous to sail from Saint Simeon at that season of the year. By Candlemas (2nd of February) there was a good deal of panic among the non-combatants, and even the knights, many of them dismounted, were anxious and worried. Anne was certain of approaching defeat, but she faced it bravely; it was known that young women taken by the Turks were not killed, but sold into slavery, and she discussed with Father Yves and her husband what she should do if the camp were captured. Honour demanded that she kill herself, before she was defiled by the infidel, yet suicide is a mortal sin; she asked Father Yves about it as calmly as if she was discussing her plans for a picnic in the summer.

  “Of course suicide is a sin,” said the priest, “and in these cases the women usually get round it by asking their men to kill them. That is quite permissible, and then the men themselves fight until they fall; and if they die fighting the infidel anything like wife-murder in such excusable circumstances will surely be forgiven.”

  “But the chances are that I won’t be here,” said Roger. “I am one of the few knights left who still has a warhorse, and the leaders are not likely to waste Blackbird by setting me to defend the huts.”

  “In any case it seems to me rather degrading to be destroyed like any other valuable property, so that the enemy can’t get hold of me,” said Anne, in an unmoved voice. “I should like to have a dagger always in my girdle, or I suppose I could cut my own throat with my eating-knife, though it hasn’t much of a point to stab with. Yet I don’t want to be damned, however good the company in Hell. You must find some way out for me, Father.”

  “This a difficult problem,” the priest answered, “and some clerks might tell you differently. But a long time ago there were certain Christian ladies who killed themselves rather than submit to the embraces of their pagan rulers, and the Church has always honoured them as martyrs. Perhaps you would fulfil the same conditions, if you killed yourself for fear you would be compelled to worship the devil, and not from mere knightly pride and the honour of this world. Still, I don’t want to put thoughts of self-murder in your heart. Wait and see; it is even possible that we might win the bettle.”

  “Well spoken, Father,” said Anne. “We nearly lost hope when we were in the Sclavonian mountains, but we came through, and here I am. I see Messer Robert de Santa Fosca coming to tell us the news, as usual. Cousin Robert, we were discussing whether I should kill myself if the infidels storm the camp, but Father Yves here says it might be a sin. What do you think?”

  “Domna, it would be a very great waste, to take so much beauty from the world. Perhaps you might find a Turkish household not so bad after all. They are men like ourselves, and the fairest of their wives bears rule over the rest; you might be Queen of Antioch. I remember in Sicily some of the infidels killed their women as we took their towns, but those who escaped were not sorry to find other brave warriors to love them. Besides, what is all this talk of losing the battle? Things looked just as black for those of us in the Norman camp at Dorylaeum. We shall chase those Turks for miles, and take the city as soon as the sun gets a bit warmer. Will you come for a walk with me, Roger? There is something I want to discuss with you.”

  The two knights strolled away from the huts down to the bank of the Orontes, Robert still in his rather tattered silk tunic, and Roger in the patched and faded clothes that he wore under his mail. When they were alone Robert turned on his cousin.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, allowing Domna Anne to talk like that. I know that the foot are panicking, it is just what you would expect from creatures like that; but the knights and their ladies should never give up hope. We can beat the Turks whenever they come out to fight us, and you know it in your heart; we shouldn’t be here otherwise. But what I came to say is this. You still have a warhorse, haven’t you? Well, Count Bohemund has a little grain hidden away in a safe place that the Count of Blois knows nothing about. We are going to give it to the warhorses in the next two or three days, but if the poorer pilgrims heard that we were feeding animals while they starve they would make an unpleasant outcry. Don’t let your groom know, but ride out to a place across the river that I will point out to you, and there you will find some Italian knights guarding the sacks. Will you please swear, on your honour as a knight, that you will give it all to your horse, and not keep any back for Domna Anne or yourself? I know you wouldn’t think of such a thing, but it is a rule we have to make.”

  “Of course I swear, if you wish it,” Roger answered. “If the grain must go to Blackbird it shall, though it seems to me wrong to hoard food for the horses when the poor are dying of hunger.”

  “Nonsense, the horses must come first, though we can’t trust all the pilgrims to see it; in this war every trained warhorse is worth ten rascally crossbowmen. Remember we are all fighting for our lives, and the poor will face death or slavery if the knights are beaten. You see how frightened they are already, and they depend absolutely on us. I am sorry you are so doubtful of success.”

  “I am trying to face the facts,” said Roger with indignation. “I think we must face certain defeat, and I will do my best to meet death bravely. Yo
u know as well as I do how little hope there is, and I always thought that you Italians put very little faith in the inevitable victory of a holy cause, just because it is holy. After all, you have seen the Pope chased out of Rome often enough.”

  “Oh, I don’t think we shall win by a miraculous intervention of Heaven, if that is what you mean,” said Robert soothingly. “But no battle is lost until it is won, and these Turks have run away before. All the same, have you thought about what you will do if we do happen to lose? Their arrows can’t pierce a good coat of mail, and a lot of us will be taken alive. It can’t be very unforgivable to change your religion to save your life, otherwise those who refuse and are martyred for the Faith would not be so highly thought of.”

  “That is a very wicked idea, and quite unworthy of a knight,” Roger said with a startled look. “But I know you well enough now to realize that you say the most appalling things just to shock me, and your actions are better than your words. We shall both fight our hardest, and face death like true knights, but I confess it is more difficult for me, with my wife in the camp.”

  “I think Domna Anne will be able to look after herself, whatever happens,” Robert said dryly. “Concentrate on coming out of the battle alive, and you will make a good warrior. These knights who vow to die fighting the infidel are apt to fulfil their promises too speedily, and it doesn’t help the army as a whole.”

  Three days of feeding on oats and barley, instead of the miserable hay that could be found near the camp, made a great difference to the warhorses, though the secret could not be kept from the noncombatants, who grumbled as much as they dared. But there was nothing they could do against the knights, and though the policy was ruthless, from a military point of view it was sound. By the 7th of February it was known that thirty thousand Turks had assembled at Harenc, only sixteen miles east of Antioch, and all mounted knights were advised to muster in the plain to the north of the river. Blackbird had been groomed till he shone, and was lively and fit, and Roger was armed by Anne, which reminded him of all that was at stake. He still had no lance; the one he had lost in the fight south of Antioch could not be replaced, for lack of suitable wood for the shaft; but his sword was specially sharpened, and in the sort of skirmishing fight that the Turks preferred most of the other knights would drop their lances in the first melee. Many of those barons who had taken refuge at Saint Simeon had been brought back by a threat of excommunication launched by the Bishop of Puy, who openly accused them of being false to their pilgrims’ oath; among them was the Duke of Normandy, who was no coward, if he did like to keep his belly filled. Roger was glad that he would have another opportunity of fighting under his lord’s eye, and perhaps earning his admiration.

  When they were assembled it was announced that the Count of Taranto had again been given the chief command. Roger heard one of his neighbours grumble: “We all know the proverb, ‘three times makes a custom’. This is twice running that the Duke has agreed to serve under that Italian. I didn’t come all this way to learn warfare from a jumped-up thieving Hauteville.” But most of the knights seemed to think it was a good idea that the most cunning warrior should command them in such a desperate emergency.

  The Count inspected them and their horses very carefully, and it was discovered that many knights, eager to play their part in this crisis, had come on donkeys or mules, or on Turkish ponies so famished that they could never carry an armed man into battle; all these were sent back to guard the camp, and then it was found that there were seven hundred properly mounted men left, of all the mighty host that had started from Europe a year and a half ago; they were divided into six more or less equal detachments, as far as possible under their own leaders, and then dismissed, to assemble again that evening.

  Roger rested and ate, and tried to snatch a little sleep, while Anne rearranged the padding in his helm, which gave him a headache when he wore it for hours. Then it was time to muster again, and she armed him carefully. When he kissed her good-bye she bravely kept an unmoved face, and it was he who nearly broke down. Not only did he love her for herself, but she was a habit, a substitute for his far-off home, and probably the only person in the world who knew him through and through. With tears in his eyes, he clutched her to his mail-clad bosom until she gasped with pain and kissed her fiercely. Then he mounted, and rode to join the Duke’s detachment.

  The small expeditionary force crossed the temporary bridge behind the camp in twos and threes, so as not to alarm the Turkish garrison which covered the northern end of the City Bridge. They drew up on the plain north of the Orontes, and all the leaders were summoned to conference with the Count of Taranto; presently they came back to explain to their men the plans for the coming battle. The Duke of Normandy sat his horse in the darkness, just visible as a darker lump against the gloom, and addressed his hundred-odd followers in a voice that was raised to carry over the shuffling and coughing of the unfit horses.

  “Knights and pilgrims, you all know the situation. If the infidels of Syria can bring their army here, to this plain where we stand, they will join with the garrison of the city and attack our camp from all sides. Even if we could defend the camp against them, and that would not be easy, we should be unable to feed ourselves with the northern bank of the river in enemy hands. Many people, of whom I am one, thought, that our wisest course was to retreat to Saint Simeon and get away by ship. But if we tried to do that all the foot and the baggage must fall to the infidel for lack of transport, so, as a last desperate resort, and our only chance, we have decided to meet them in a spot that the Count of Taranto has chosen. I tell you this so that you will realize how serious is our plight, and that only the utmost exertions on your part can bring the army to safety. You could not have a better cause to fight in, and I shall be charging in front of you. Now march on slowly, and spare your horses all you can.”

  As they picked their way cautiously over the stony ground in the dark, the knight riding on Roger’s left spoke to him quietly.

  “The Duke of Normandy should not try to make speeches on the eve of battle. I know he is a good enough warrior in a charge, but before he sees the enemy he is frightened, and he shows it. Now King William would never have let on that he had advised retreat, and was fighting against his better judgement.”

  “He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t know before, and he may have thought that fear would make us charge harder than ever. It has that effect on some people, I believe,” said Roger in what he hoped was a calm voice; he had been praying mechanically to get his courage back, after the Duke’s disheartening address. “But you spoke of King William as though you knew him. Do you come from England, or did you mean the late King and Duke?”

  “I come from England, all right, and lucky to get away from it. And I meant the King who reigns now, William Redface, curse him. I saw enough of him before I left. My name is Arnulf de Hesdin, and I was a vassal of the Count of Northumbria; does that tell you anything?”

  “I am Roger de Bodeham in Sussex. I think I know what you mean. There was a rebellion in the North about a year before we left, wasn’t there?”

  “I followed my lord, Count Robert, and no one can call that rebellion,” the other answered. “But he had a grievance, and made war on the King. When we were beaten they called it treason, under some ridiculous Saxon law. I was lucky, and won my trial; I think my accuser knew it was unfair to put a man on trial for following his own lord, and he didn’t fight his hardest. But I knew that afterwards the King and his judges would always be watching me, and I thought it safer to leave the country. Were you in trouble at home, or did you come just because you were young and foolish?”

  “My family has had no bother with the law since we settled in England at the Conquest. But my father is a poor man, with only one manor, and I have an elder brother. It was this or the Church for me, for I wouldn’t like soldiering. I thought at the time that the Christians of the East wanted our help, though they don’t seem so eager for it now we are here.”


  “Oh, they are a shocking crowd of heretics, and they don’t know what it is to be faithful to a lord. This whole pilgrimage is a mistake, but it has taken us out of the reach of King Redface. I thought I could win land over here, and settle down, but I am afraid this looks like the last battle for all of us.”

  “No, there doesn’t seem much hope, does there? Of course, I had never drawn sword before I left England, and the leaders know more about it than we do. Still, things looked very bad at Dorylaeum, and we came through all right. We are lucky, as it is, to have horses at all. What do you think of this one? He used to belong to the Duke himself.”

  They settled down to discuss horses they had known, until they had marched about seven miles. Roger reflected that he had come up in the world. He had left Normandy as a knight of the second rank, but now his possession of a trained warhorse put him among counts and barons.

  They were riding over open rolling country, with no obstacles for a horseman, where it seemed that the Turks could easily carry out their usual tactics of encirclement and partial flight; but after marching for about an hour and a half the head of the column halted, and they were told to dismount and wait for the morning. Roger saw that they had reached a good position, and his hopes revived. They were in a small dip of the rolling plain, which hid them from an enemy approaching from the east; on the south flowed the Orontes, and on the north a marshy lake protected their left flank; the whole position was less than a mile wide, and seven hundred knights, with intervals between the detachments, should just be able to fill it. They loosened their girths, took the bits out of the horses’ mouths, and sat or lay about on the ground; there was a little of last year’s grass, dead and turned to hay, so the horses had something to pick at, and plentiful water. The knights themselves were not so well off; no fires were allowed, for fear of warning the enemy, and most of them had nothing to eat. It was too cold for sleep. Roger had no cloak, and he lay on the ground, pressed close to his new friend for warmth. Everyone was in better spirits, for they could all see the advantages of the position they occupied, and like all warriors in all times, now there was hope they grumbled more freely.