The Lady for Ransom

by Alfred Duggan

  The oddest thing of all was that the Turks made no use of their victory. The Sultan regarded the Roman war as a tiresome interruption of his campaign against the rival Caliph of Egypt; he was preparing to march south when news reached him of a revolt at the eastern end of his vast dominions, and he led his whole force eastwards instead; small bands of Turks were raiding the frontier; but so far not a single walled town had been attacked.

  The Roman officers were cheered by this unexpected respite; though there was no longer an Army of Asia, and when the Turks did march west, as they would in a year or two, they would find no obstacle beyond the walls of the cities. The obvious remedy was to hire mercenaries; but there was no money. The provinces would send no tribute to the city until either Michael or Romanus was deposed and blinded. As Bryennius said bitterly, the Emperor Romanus had done great harm by seeking a decisive battle so far to the east; but he had done even worse in allowing himself to be taken alive where so many brave men died. No one could attend to the Turkish menace until he was out of the way.

  It was not the kind of reunion which is celebrated by heavy drinking, and soon the Roman officers retired; I of course remained with Messer Roussel, and he called me into the council which was held as soon as the Franks were alone.

  ‘I don’t see my way,’ he began, addressing his knights and a few of the more influential sergeants. ‘But whatever we do we must stick together. I shall be guided by your advice. I swore fealty to Romanus, but they say he has done homage to the King of the Turks; so that is cancelled, for no Christian may serve an infidel overlord. We have drawn no pay since August, and we need not expect any. We are masterless men. The safest plan would be to ride to the sea and take ship for Apulia. Or we can wait in this castle for something to turn up.’

  Messer Robert de Hal replied for the band; he was a brave knight, of a noble family in Brabant; but like so many Brabancons he thought only of plunder. ‘This is a rich land, and its defenders are dead. All my life I have sought such a land. Let us stay, and tallage the merchants. The churches are full of holy pictures sheathed in silver; yet it is the paint which is pleasing to God; the pictures will be all the more holy when that silver is safe in our wallets.’

  ‘Don’t sack churches,’ I said at once. I had been only my lord’s page, but now I was the expert on Roman affairs. ‘The citizens will stone us if we commit sacrilege, and it brings bad luck anyway. But Romanus and Michael are about to fight, and we are the stoutest warriors in this land. They must bid for our services. My lord, let us stay here in Ancyra. If we take what we want without paying for it we shall not need money; but no Emperor can object when his defenders, unpaid during the crisis, live at free quarters until things settle down. Don’t seize gold, silver or jewels; that’s stealing, all over the world. But wine and meat and oats for the horses are legitimate requisitioning in time of war. The merchants won’t like it, but we can hang them up by their thumbs if they argue; and all the time we are faithful servants of Romania, defending this great Theme against the infidel.’

  ‘That’s well put, young Roger,’ my lord said kindly. ‘If we can stay here until they get used to us they may prefer an honest Norman ruler to the Emperor and his tax-gatherers. It began like that in Italy. The towns hired Norman pilgrims to defend them, and now the fitzTancreds are lords of the land.’

  On the next day the Army of Europe rode out; Bryennius saw that the Frankopole was preparing to seize Ancyra for himself, and he would have liked to remain; he was a patriot, who hated to see Romania diminished. But his men would not linger, for news of the disaster had reached the Danube and the Patzinaks were already riding over Haemus. We settled down to live in the citadel as our cousins live in Calabria and Apulia and Sicily and England, and so many other foreign lands which pay tallage to Norman protectors.

  We discovered that the town possessed a council of leading merchants. Through them we levied all the food and wine and clothing we needed, quite peaceably and without using force. This was our due as lords of the citadel. The remaining clerk of the Treasury, who had spoken to me from the wall, tried to keep account of these tallages, saying they would be deducted from our pay when eventually we got it. One day he was picked up in the street with his head bashed in; perhaps he had fallen from an upper window.

  At the beginning of Advent I was sent on a mission. My lord found an accountant who knew the formal handwriting of the Treasury, and told me in French what to dictate in Greek. It was a request to the civil governor of Constantinople, who is called the Eparch, to allow me to escort my lady Matilda from her convent; there has always been a regulation forbidding strangers to dwell in the city unless they have definite business, and we had heard they were beginning to enforce it, now that so many refugees flocked in from the unguarded frontiers. My lord gave me another letter, addressed to the Dromos; this said we had lost our linguists and could do with one, if there was a speaker of Italian available. But this second message was only to be presented on the day we departed; we did not wish to remind the Domestic of our existence for fear he might order us to leave our comfortable quarters. My lord as Vestiarius had a most imposing seal with his name on it in Greek; when the letters were engrossed on good parchment, with this seal affixed, they looked like official despatches; that would help me to pass any guards who might be holding the ferries of the Bosphorus. But of course they were not official despatches. The last thing we wanted was an order from the Emperor.

  I took an escort of a dozen sergeants; the journey of two hundred and fifty miles took a fortnight, and I felt very grand, carrying the letters of a great lord with a clump of lances behind me. Why not? My father was a smith, but the grandfather of the King of England was a tanner.

  The Theme of Bucellarion lay ungarrisoned, but prosperous and peaceful. No one imagined the Turks could get so far, though there was no army to keep them out. In Optimaton, which lies on the eastern shore of the Bosphorus, we found pickets at crossroads and bridges, and troops in the walled towns; the regular Schools of the Theme had been destroyed at Manzikert, and these were Alan mercenaries from the Caucasus, ignorant barbarians who took no part in Roman politics. The Emperor Michael could not defend his frontier from the infidel, but he had scraped up enough money to guard his capital against Romanus Diogenes. The savages were impressed by the official seal, and let us through without demur.

  The city seemed as prosperous as ever. A real native of New Rome does not believe in his heart that anything of importance can happen beyond the walls of his sacred city, and regards all provincials as rustics who may as well be raided by Turks as not; the defeat at Manzikert was felt as a shocking disgrace to Roman arms, but not as a disaster which might affect their lives. At my inn the only complaint I heard was that government salaries were beginning to fall into arrears, since the provinces neglected to send tribute.

  In the morning I called, alone, at the main gate of the convent where my lady had been living since we marched in the spring. No men were allowed beyond the gatehouse, but that was a comfortable room, with glass windows and a broad cushioned bench against the wall. So many Roman widows, or other ladies who are not wanted at home, live in these convents without vow or vocation that their gatehouses are among the gayest places in the city. I had not sent word in advance, and I waited a long time; but when at last my lady entered she was in excellent health and spirits.

  ‘Welcome, young Roger,’ she said very graciously, ‘I suppose my lord needs me at once, after leaving me stuck here without news for the better part of a year? But I should not complain. I must have picked up subversive ideas from these Roman ladies, whose guardians write frequently. It’s a silly thing to say, but I wish my lord could write. If the Strategus Bryennius had not called in on his way through the city I should still not have known that the Franks avoided the battle and got safely away.’

  ‘Here is in fact a letter from my lord,’ I answered loftily. ‘It is addressed to the Eparch of the city, so don’t let the eunuch dirty it when he reads
it to you. It says you must come at once, and bring the children. When can you start?’

  ‘I have been here ten months, so it will take me a couple of hours to pack. Not many soldiers could do it in the time, but I am an older soldier than most. Did my lord send money? The convent will expect an offering, and there should be keepsakes for my friends.’

  I had no money, for we had not been paid since mid-summer. We had lived at free quarters in Ancyra long enough to forget that in other parts of Romania people were always giving and receiving coined silver. But my lady was resourceful.

  ‘I shall lay my gold belt on the altar,’ she said, ‘and Our Lady on the icon-screen can have my pearl necklace. There are rings and brooches for my friends among the nuns. I shall come to my lord as poor as when he wed me. He must plunder more jewels from the infidel. The wife of a captain of mercenaries must look rich, or people will think her husband never wins his battles. Though it’s true you were on the losing side at Manzikert, or perhaps I should say a day’s march from the fighting.’

  She seemed angry, and I did my best to explain. ‘My lady,’ I said humbly, ‘it was not our fault we missed the battle. Our orders went astray. As a matter of fact I was there, and I can assure you that among more than a hundred thousand horse eight hundred Franks would have made no difference. We had a very bad time on the retreat, and it is only because my lord is a brave leader that he can now invite you to his strong town. By the way, don’t tell the nuns exactly where we are going. It would suit us very well to be forgotten in the confusion.’

  ‘Oho, that’s different,’ said my lady quite cheerfully. ‘You did not explain that my lord ruled a rich town. I thought since he had no money he must be camped in a wood, whistling for his next meal. Are there ladies’ apartments in this town, wherever it is?’

  I reassured her on that point, and she went off to supervise the packing. Before nightfall we made a start, and slept at Chrysopolis, on the other shore of the Bosphorus.

  I suppose I am very stupid, but it was not until next day that I realised my lady spoke fluent Greek. She had picked it up as an infant learns to talk, merely by sitting among the nuns; she made the most ridiculous grammatical mistakes, but she was never at a loss for a word, and every Roman understood her. Whether or not the Dromos paid any attention to my letter I was in fact bringing another linguist to my lord. At first I was rather cast down to think that another Frank shared the qualification which made me so valuable, but I soon recognised that a woman could not be a rival. She could not talk to strange officers, or carry letters to the city; she might interpret at social gatherings, but that was on the whole a good thing; it would give me more leisure for serious drinking.

  It was because she understood Greek that my lady had been so bitter about our part in the great battle; it was said in the city that the Franks had refused to fight; there may have been some genuine confusion with the Turkish mercenaries who deserted, but probably the whole thing was a slander put about by Andronicus Ducas to excuse his own misconduct. The story has even crept into some otherwise truthful chronicles. But you will see at once that it must be absurd. Whatever their other failings, mailed Franks have never feared to charge bowmen on little ponies. When my lady learned the truth she became very friendly.

  On our ride to Ancyra she talked mostly about the city. ‘Romania is a lovely place,’ she said, ‘and I never wish to leave it. You can’t imagine how pleasant it is to have these women’s apartments always in the background. When I felt tired, or had a headache, I could sit on a cushion while a eunuch sang to me, and nobody cared what I looked like. Then, when I felt like company, I had only to walk through the curtain and there were crowds of handsome young men waiting to teach me Greek.’

  ‘Were you content to sit all day on a cushion?’

  ‘Don’t be a hidebound Frank, young Roger. Because Romans live in comfort that doesn’t mean they are soft. They have a fascinating game, played on horseback with long sticks and a ball; women don’t often take part, but I tried once or twice. Unfortunately my horse always turned over when my stick got entangled in his forelegs; and there is a silly rule against hitting your opponent on the head. But young nobles play it in the Hippodrome, and it’s pretty to watch.’

  ‘Weren’t you bored by the cobblestones of the city?’

  ‘On the contrary, I hunted regularly, and in very good company. The Princess Mary of Alania is being brought up in the city until she is old enough to marry the Emperor. She is very beautiful, and passionately fond of hunting. The Emperor is a ninny who reads books, and of course they won’t let her go hunting with men. When she heard there was in the city another female barbarian who could ride she invited me to hunt with her; we made the eunuchs and waiting-ladies gallop till they were half-dead. Nobody called us unladylike. Roman ladies don’t ride for pleasure, but they live and let live; they don’t see why you shouldn’t if it amuses you. Romania is the land for a woman. All summer I have felt as free as a man.’

  ‘If we keep quiet, and the Emperor sits over his books, you may become Countess of Ancyra.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. But I don’t expect it. If Romanus and Michael fight up and down the land someone will notice that Ancyra has a new lord.’

  Probably they knew it all the time; the clerks of the Treasury know everything that happens in Romania, for they are constantly reading papers which reach them every week from all the corners of the land. But they never openly admit that a situation is beyond control; if there is nothing to be done they do nothing; often, for Romania has more than her share of luck, the situation presently becomes controllable.

  So it was in this case. We reached Ancyra safely, and Messer Roussel kept Christmas in his hall with the lady Matilda and his children beside him. In the spring we watched our peasants plough their fields and sow corn, no man making us afraid. In high summer came news that Romanus Diogenes had been released from captivity. With Turkish aid he occupied the eastern Themes; but his old enemy Andronicus Ducas marched against him, and after a complicated campaign the ex-Emperor was brought prisoner to the city. There Michael, his stepson, blinded him so roughly that he died of it. Eudocia the Empress-mother died in the same summer, but old ladies may die from natural causes, and it is Christian to give her son the benefit of the doubt. By autumn, when we reaped our first harvest, the land was at peace.

  All this time the Turks were quiet, because their great Sultan lay dying far away on the plains of Magog; there were fascinating problems of succession and inheritance to keep them busy. But the infidels were as strong as ever, and there was still no Roman army to meet them in the field. It lay unburied at Manzikert.

  We kept a second Christmas in the castle of Ancyra, as independent as any pilgrims to Monte Gargano who have won a Lombard town for themselves.

  7. At War with the World

  One raw winter morning I was roused before dawn. At daybreak I had an appointment to arrange a further supply of wine from the tavern-keepers. Messer Roussel kept Frankish hours, rising early and retiring at dusk; we found the citizens more amenable in the very early morning; I have already explained that normally they sit up very late, by the light of their excellent lamps; their resistance is low after only a few hours of sleep.

  When the servants slapped my feet to awaken me I lurched upright, staggered to the buttery for a cup of wine, and was ready for business as by degrees I woke up. On my way I looked in on the guard by the barbican. They had nothing to report except beastly weather with more snow coming; the pickets who were supposed to patrol the town walls had not sent in their dawn messenger; probably they were all curled up in a tower out of the wind; that was slack, but we had no news of a hostile army.

  The market-place of Ancyra is the usual colonnaded square that you find in all Roman towns; it is very gloomy, for the sun had not yet risen. As I turned into the portico two men jumped from behind a column; one held a knife to my ribs while the other put a very dirty hand on my mouth. I stood quiet while they robbed
me, and then allowed them to lead me where they would. Since they had not stabbed me at once they would probably take a ransom.

  But they were not the footpads I imagined (though Romania before the Turks came was remarkably free from outlaws). They hustled me through empty streets to the south gate. The townsmen were supposed to post a guard on their gates from sunset to sunrise, and I thought my end had come; the sentries would try to rescue me, and I would be stabbed in the scuffle. Instead, both leaves of the gate stood open, and Roman troops were filing through. A young officer sat on a mounting-block inside the gate, with his staff beside him.

  ‘Good, you caught one,’ he said casually as I was hauled before him. ‘Perhaps the oaf can take a letter to the castle. The bother is that no barbarian can read.’

  Things were looking up. Romans are strict about the inviolability of envoys; if they used me as a messenger I ought to be safe.

  ‘My lord,’ I said humbly, ‘I can speak the Greek tongue, the language of Holy Scripture. I cannot read, but I could arrange a conference with your linguists.’

  The young lord looked up with a frown; I told him quickly that I was a Norman, who had learned the language in the Theme of Langobardia. Romans hate renegades, and if they catch a citizen who has thrown in his lot with the barbarians they blind him without mercy. But they consider foreigners capable of any wickedness, and make allowances; once they knew I was Italian they became quite affable.

  ‘I have heard the Strategus Bryennius speak of you,’ said the young lord. ‘I am Alexius Comnenus, brother of the Domestic. The Vestiarius Roussel has used you as an envoy in the past, and you can take him a friendly message. Make it clear that we come in peace. My brother sent me to summon the Frankopole to his standard. We arrived after dark; of course the citizens opened their gate to the Roman army, and I thought my men would be warmer inside. We shall breakfast in the market-place, and until noon I shall await the Frankopole. Impress on him two things: I have brought money to pay his band, and if he isn’t there by noon I shall call on him in the castle.’