Robert’s face blazed scarlet; the Normans of Italy were always touchy about their descent in the female line, for the early conquerors had sometimes taken over the harems of the Arabs.
“Take care that I don’t prove on your body that I am as good a Norman as any tailed Englishman,” he shouted.
Roger sprang to his feet, his fists clenched and his lips drawn back in a snarl. As they stood facing one another, their whole bodies contorted with anger, the physical resemblance between the cousins was for the first time noticeable. Anne saw it with a shiver of apprehension; neither was armed, but in a minute they would fly at one another with the eating-knives they carried in their belts; and the survivor would face the Duke’s justice.
“You filthy Gasmule!” shouted Roger. He was glad that he had remembered that expression, which he had picked up in Italy in his first winter abroad. (It was connected with the word “mule”, meaning a half-breed, and was used as a term of abuse to indicate the children of western fathers and oriental mothers.)
It certainly seemed to have touched Robert in a sensitive spot. He stepped back and looked round for a weapon. The armour-stand from which Roger had taken down his mail shirt stood in a corner of the hut; the helm and hauberk were still stuck on top, and the unscabbarded sword hung from two pegs supporting the hand-guard of the hilt. Robert took a stride towards it, but Anne was too quick for him; she had risen to her feet when the quarrel began, and now she moved swiftly and stood with her back to the sword and her arms outspread. Robert faced her for a moment, his right fist raised to strike, while Roger drew his eating-knife from his belt. All three were frozen motionless, each waiting for an enemy to move. Robert was the first to recover; he lowered his hand to his breast, and bowed to Anne.
“I cannot strike you, Domna. I am not one of those English woman-beaters. Now, sir, may I leave your roof in peace, or will you stick that knife into me when I turn my back?”
Roger came to his senses. He could not kill a fellow-Christian in his own hut; apart from the breach of hospitality there were no witnesses except his own wife, and the whole camp would call it murder. He sheathed his eating-knife, and folded his arms.
“You may go in safety, cousin. Do not ever come back, or if you must, first send a clerk to make peace between us. Now go.”
He turned his back on the door to show his peaceful intentions, and waited to hear it close. When it had slammed he went over to his wife, and dropped on one knee before her.
“God bless you, Domna,” he said. “For I believe you have saved my life. If we had struggled for that sword one of us must have been killed, and the other would have faced mutilation. I am very sorry that I chastised you yesterday; though you deserved it then, and it was my right as a husband. In future I shall always remember your brave action to-night, and I hope we shall be such friends as husband and wife should be.”
He was still very young, and rather stupid, and he did not understand that it was no use asking for his wife’s forgiveness if he still justified his beating of her; but Anne was glad to make friends for the time being.
“Don’t worry too much, dear husband,” she said in her gentlest and most winning voice. “As to my saving your life, as you are gracious enough to call it, why, that was nothing at all; I was only afraid that Robert would damage your arms. He is rather a scoundrel, but I don’t think he would kill an unarmed man; and his manners are so good that I am sure he would never strike a lady.”
This reminder of the beating made Roger feel as awkward as it was intended to, and there was nothing for it but to spend the rest of the evening praising his wife’s courage and devotion, and making courteous love to her as well as he knew how.
In the morning he found the whole camp packing and preparing to move. The accession of the Duke of Lower Lotharingia had made the Provençal party the stronger of the two, and the news that Count Tancred of Cilicia was prepared to bring some of the Normans of Italy to Jerusalem also had converted the last waverers. The Duke of Normandy and Count Tancred gave out publicly that they would march with the Count of Toulouse on the 13th of January; Duke Godfrey and the Count of Flanders would follow as soon as they had asembled their men from the scattered garrisons of Edessa and the north, and procured more supplies from the fleets that were expected in the spring. Only the Prince of Antioch and his personal followers would stay behind to hold the newly conquered land, with the fighting-men from the ships of the Italian merchant republics; these last were openly out for commercial advantage, and hardly counted as pilgrims at all.
All bustled about their work with a new purpose and cheerfulness. They had been stuck in one place for fourteen months, first during the starvation and counter-starvation of the siege, then during the long, purposeless and quarrelsome delay while the council was making up its mind; now they were off to capture the holiest city in the world from a foe much feebler than the Turk they had already defeated. The footmen sang as they packed their plunder into balanced loads for the baggage-animals, and the horse lines were full of knights fitting restuffed saddles and examining the horses’ feet.
The short notice was a great nuisance to the Provençals and the Normans of Normandy, but unfortunately the Count of Toulouse would not go back on the emphatic words he had spoken in council, when he had promised to leave Antioch on the Octave of the Epiphany. After all the arguments and discussions it left most people, including Roger, with only four days to pack their baggage and get in a supply of extra food and drink. Forage was bound to be scarce and expensive in an army of that size, and many of the horses were half-fed and unfit for battle; much of the plunder of Antioch had consisted of bulky goods of little value, though the foot treasured it all; now it must be disposed of for gold and silver, which was easier to carry. The Greek and Armenian merchants did well out of this, and out of the sale of the thousand and one heavy and useless objects of the countryside that an army always picks up when it stays in one place for a long time.
Roger’s Turkish pony was in fairly good condition; it might have been fitter, but compared to some of the other horses it stood out as strong and well-fed, and would probably carry him to the end of at least one flight or pursuit without breaking down. His only follower was Tom the crossbowman, who would march on foot carrying his own pack, but he must have a mount for Anne, and something to carry his baggage. Of course the price of every sort of animal had gone sky-high now that the camp was breaking up at last, and in any case time was very short (in England most people took three months to buy a horse); but he managed to get hold of a tall and comfortable donkey for Anne, and a shaggy little baggage-pony from the Steppes of Central Asia, a vicious brute, all heels and teeth, but untiring, and used to scratching for its own food. By the time he had done this, and bought a skin of wine and a side of bacon for emergencies, his money was gone. Anne and he would be fed by the Duke, as they were entitled to be, but it was a sobering thought that after two and a half years campaigning he was still landless and penniless.
Jerusalem was more than two hundred miles to the south, and that would mean a long march through hilly country, though the worst of the mountains were behind them. It was expected that they would besiege Acre first, to win a secure seaport near at hand where supplies could be landed; but unless the town fell at once they would have a long campaign in cold weather before they even reached the Holy City. It was a bad thing to start without money, since native Christians were sure to come to the army with luxuries for sale, and Roger looked round for anything he could turn into cash. He at once thought of the many silken dresses he had bought for Anne, but when he suggested that she should sell them it led to a most unfortunate quarrel.
“I think you should remember, dear husband,” said she angrily, “that I am the daughter of a baron, and the widow of a landholding knight. In France, where I was born, men do not sell the clothes off their ladies’ backs. God knows I have had little enough out of this marriage; I have been hungry and cold many times and you still have not given me o
ne foot of land. My dresses are my own, and I would rather go without wine than give them up. I don’t know what laws there are in this camp, or whether there are any at all; but if you try to take them from me I shall go as a suppliant to the Count of Toulouse, whose born subject I am, and ask for his protection.”
“My dear,” he answered in a friendly voice. “I know that I have not provided for you as I should; though you must remember that we are on a dangerous pilgrimage, which will very soon, please God, be ended. But you are a seasoned campaigner; think back to what it was like during the siege of this city. The Duke gives out what food he can, but when an army sits still supplies always run short, and he is not such a skilled administrator as the faint-hearted Count of Blois. The footmen and the Turcopoles go out to plunder the neighbouring villages, and sometimes they find more than they want at the moment. Then, if you are on the spot and offer ready money, you can often buy wine and meat from them as they come back to the camp. When we sack Acre I will make a point of plundering the best clothes I can find for you, so you won’t be without fine dresses for very long. I certainly won’t take them from you by force; that would be disgraceful indeed. But I wish you would do this to please me, and in your own interest as well.”
Anne was quite unpersuaded, and as angry as ever.
“Messer Roger,” she said formally, and with great emphasis, “you will not take my clothes with my consent, and I give you credit for being a better knight than to steal them from me by force. That is all. I survived the hardships of the siege last year, hardships made worse by your incompetence, and I will somehow survive the siege of Acre. Now leave me to pack. We march the day after to-morrow, and I must fold my dresses properly, and get them sewn up in canvas.”
“You know I have only one little pack-horse, and he has to carry the extra food and the bedding. Don’t give him too heavy a load.”
“I shall manage perfectly. I know all about loading pack-horses; my father was rich, and a landholder, and there were a great many pack-horses in his castle. Now go out and get your supper in a cook-shop; I am much too busy to look after you this evening.”
Roger remembered how she had helped him in that very hut during the quarrel with Robert. She was being very difficult, but she was within her rights, and somehow they must continue to live together; all married couples did, until one of them died.
Unfortunately supper at a cook-shop cost money which he could not spare; so he went to the Duke’s kitchen, where there was bread and meat for all Normans of Normandy. There he found a great many foot and a number of knights, for much of the private baggage was already packed into horseloads and the huts were being dismantled. He listened to a discussion about the country to the south of them, and where they were likely to meet the first infidels; nothing was really known except that Laodicea was in the hands of the Greeks or the local Christians; no one would come out of it to attack them, though it was unlikely that they would be allowed to draw supplies from the port. Various lords had spent the summer raiding up the valley of the Orontes, and there were believed to be no important castles in the hands of the infidels nearer than Hama; beyond that all was a blank, though there were said to be independent Christian mountaineers in the Lebanon, who might or might not be friendly. The Egyptians held Jerusalem, that was certain; but no one knew the exact boundary between them and the Turks, or whether they would find a Turkish army barring the way before they reached Egyptian territory. It was probable that they would be allowed to form the siege of Acre without a battle, since there was no news of the gathering of an infidel army in the south or east; the question was whether the power of the Holy Lance would save them from another year-long investment. The knights were dubious, for the Lance was popular only with the uneducated; in any case the upper classes hated all the dismounted sentry-work of a siege. But everyone was delighted that at last they were leaving that ill-omened camp of evil memory, where so many had died of famine or plague, and the whole pilgrimage had nearly broken up in civil war.
Roger spent the next morning fussing round his ponies and trying to rearrange the loads, which seemed to him more than they could ever transport; he could not dine in his own hut, with all cooking utensils already packed in the loads, and all the Normans of Normandy ate at long tables in the open, as they would on the march. He had not spoken to Anne since he had hurried out in the morning, and now she was with the other ladies, who ate at a table apart; there were one or two arrangements that he must still make with her, but he was not sorry that he could not discuss them now; it was better to leave as little time as possible for her to quarrel with him again. He sat a long time over his dinner, since there was nowhere else to go except his unfurnished hut.
Presently he went to the horselines, to try an experimental loading-up and see whether all his baggage could really be carried on the one pony available. It was about the eighth hour, two in the afternoon, when he reached the corner where his riding horse, Anne’s donkey, and the pack-pony should have been tethered, with Tom the cross bowman keeping watch to see they were not stolen. As he approached he saw the donkey was missing, and Tom came running up and began to talk quickly and with agitation.
“I hope I have done right, Messer Roger. About an hour ago Domna Anne came here and told me to put her baggage on the donkey. She said she had found another horse to ride, and wanted her belongings moved to it. So I loaded up and asked her where she wanted it taken. Just then a fully-armed knight came up with three footsergeants and a led horse, Domna Anne mounted, and they all went away with the donkey. It looked like highway robbery to me, but I couldn’t do anything against four of them, and Domna Anne never called out for my help.”
Roger was surprised and worried; he could not imagine what Anne was up to, though it hardly seemed like kidnapping. He did not want to raise an alarm, which would make him look foolish if there was some innocent explanation. He said quietly:
“I expect it is some friend of hers, who has got hold of a horse to offer her; you know she thought that donkey undignified, though everyone rides them out here. Could you recognize the knight?”
“No, Messer Roger. He wore his helm, and it had a broad noseguard. And I’m certain I’ve never seen his horse before.”
“Well, how did he speak, and what sort of men were his followers?”
“He spoke good French, and yet somehow as though it was not his own language. The footmen never said anything, but they looked like foreigners to me. I’m quite sure I have never seen any of them among the Duke’s Normans.”
“There must be some good explanation, though it does look queer. I will go and hunt for Domna Anne round the camps. Oh, and I might as well take my sword; I want to get it set by a smith before we march to-morrow. No, don’t you come with me; stay here and keep an eye on the horses; and you had better wind your crossbow and keep it handy.”
He saw that Tom was not deceived by his casualness; but one crossbow would not be much help if there really was trouble, and he preferred to let the groom stay out of a quarrel among his betters.
He slung the baldric over his shoulder, and walked towards the Bridge Gate, where the Armenian and Syrian horsedealers were encamped on the north bank of the river. To get there he had to cross the old temporary bridge that the pilgrims had built more than a year ago, when they were still besieging the city. As he walked down the north bank he suddenly gave a gasp of relief; he saw Anne on a strange pony, waiting for him beside an armed and mounted knight. As he drew closer he recognized that this was Robert de Santa Fosca, but wearing different armour and riding a strange horse. This was of course a pretty good disguise, for the nose-guard of the helm covered a good deal of the wearer’s face, and the hauberk came over his chin; Tom, who had seen Robert often enough at the castle beyond Harenc, might be excused for not recognizing him that afternoon. But why had he taken such pains to change his appearance (armour that didn’t fit properly was hellishly uncomfortable), and, in any case, why was he fully armed the day before the cam
paign was to begin? He even had his shield on his arm, and his lance in his right hand. Robert walked his horse a few paces forward, and couched his lance. Roger stood still in amazement; had his cousin gone mad, and was he about to murder him on the open riverbank, before thousands of witnesses? They had quarrelled three days ago, but not so desperately as all that. And what could be Anne’s part in this strange business? Robert was speaking now, in a strained, unnatural voice, like a suitor pleading his claim in a law-court:
“Do not come any nearer, Roger de Bodeham. I must tell you that your wife, Domna Anne, has now sought my protection. She is coming with me to the citadel of Antioch; we shall live there together, and you will never see her again.”
Roger could find no words. He had married Anne for love, which in itself was unusual. Since then she had always been there, some times a nuisance when he had to fight or make plans, but doing her duty admirably when he could provide a home for her. Surely she would not betray him after only one serious quarrel? Besides, honourable ladies just didn’t leave their husbands; there was a law against it. Perhaps she was being carried off against her will, and was too frightened to admit it.
“Anne would never do such a thing,” he shouted. “It is forbidden by the laws of God, and probably by the Duke’s law as well. I won’t believe it until I hear it from her own lips. Speak to me, darling Anne, and tell me that what this wicked and dishonourable knight says is untrue.”
He was taking a risk in insulting an armed man while he had nothing but his sword, but he still thought too well of human nature to realize how dangerous this was. Robert shook his lance menacingly, and made his horse fidget; but he kept his self-control and called over his shoulder to Anne in the background:
“Come here, my darling, and tell this horned idiot that you really love me, and that you leave him of your own free will.”
Anne urged her pony nearer, till she was sitting level with Robert; she was wearing her best silk dress, with a gold-embroidered white silk coif, and looking as lovely as Roger had ever seen her.
Knight with Armour Page 29
