The Lady for Ransom

by Alfred Duggan

  We were now in undisturbed possession of our fief, and my lord began to set it in order, introducing the decent customs of the west.

  8. The Bridge of Zompi

  Many of the townsmen of Sebaste are Armenians or strangers from the Caucasus, where dwell a medley of little nations known collectively as Alans. The Romans hold that their Emperor should be supreme over all Christians, an idea which seems absurd to Franks but is more plausible in Asia, and yet they also hold that a man who cannot speak Greek is unworthy of office; you should remember, when you get out there, that other nations are jealous of the real Romans, and would be happy under Frankish rulers. When Messer Roussel decreed that lawsuits should be tried by a large jury, in the language of the defendant, the townsmen became enthusiastic supporters of his rule.

  For the town of Sebaste that summer was a golden age. Last year’s harvest had been gathered in spite of the Turks, and hunger would not show itself until the autumn – meanwhile our Frankish dues were very much less than the tribute they used to pay to the Treasury, and my lord compelled his followers to live peaceably. We were nervous at being so far from home, and knew that our only safety lay in sticking together; Messer Roussel was obeyed.

  Armenian traders can find a way through any number of warring armies. Some of them bought from the neighbouring Turks, raw savages who could be bribed cheaply, peaceful passage for a caravan; a long train of camels arrived from Baghdad, bringing sugar from Arabia, trinkets from India, and leatherwork from Mesopotamia. They were led north, over the mountains, to the next Theme of Armeniakon; the idea was to march by way of Amasia to the coast of Sinope; if the goods eventually reached the Bosphorus by sea no one could be certain how they had come. The passage of this caravan doubled the extent of our fief. The strong walls of Amasia were guarded only by its own inhabitants, and when they discovered that Sebaste had a protector who had opened a route to the east they sent a deputation begging to be allowed to join us. The men of Sinope were also very pleased and excited, but every port on that coast must keep on good terms with the customs-house on the Bosphorus; they let us know we might send more goods the same way, but dared not disturb the small squadron which held their harbour in the name of the Emperor.

  Now my lord ruled a mighty County, two hundred miles long, which in the old days had supported an army of twenty thousand regular horse. It had been ravaged by Turks, but still gave a very good living to three hundred Franks.

  The Turks were a nuisance, but not a menace. They rode in small bands, each under a leader who was jealous of other leaders, and they sought grazing rather than tribute. They considered us more formidable than the wreck of the Roman army, and they usually crossed the Halys to march westward as quickly as possible. Our state seemed to have a bright future, though the Emperor in his great city was still our enemy.

  He had changed his advisers. Michael no longer feared that his kin would set him aside, and he had appointed as Domestic, his cousin Andronicus, the traitor of Manzikert; his uncle, John Ducas, had been given the great title of Caesar, and father and son were raising troops for the reconquest of Armeniakon. Soon after Pentecost they crossed into Asia, and we rode to meet them on our boundary, the Halys.

  When we reached the river our old comrades, the men of Ancyra, sent a deputation to say the Caesar was still in Optimaton, a long way to the west; would we occupy their citadel, and free them from tribute? Messer Roussel decided to advance. This was Italy over again; there the towns had called in stray Norman pilgrims to protect them, and now there was a Norman state, recognised by every Christian ruler. In a few years my lord would be King of Asia, and we his counts and barons; the band was elated, ready to overthrow any army in the world.

  Once over the Halys the next line must be the river Sangarius, though that meant a long and risky advance. By St John’s Day we had reached the right bank, and learned that the Caesar was in the neighbourhood. We had excellent information, for though the peasants were surly the burgesses who accompanied our train were clever at getting the truth from them; a Roman who lives in a walled town regards ploughmen as animals without human rights. We moved up the river opposite the Caesar, until after a few days we halted at the eastern end of a stone bridge; it stood in open country, but was called the Bridge of Zompi, after the nearest town.

  I expect there are Norman mercenaries in India, and the plains of Magog, and any other part of the world where steel wins gold. When my lord became famous, stray Franks had ridden in to join us, until our band contained five hundred mailed sergeants and thirty knights. We drew up in order of battle at our end of the bridge.

  The Caesar had lined the western bank, and we could count his numbers. He had four thousand horse, arrayed in the usual Roman formation, a centre, two wings, and a reserve. We could ride down any number of mounted archers, and the odds did not dismay us; but the thousand men who formed the enemy’s right wing were Franks; we could see their unmistakable shields. That made a difference; there was no reason why five hundred Franks should beat a thousand, especially when neither side had a just cause.

  All day both sides watched each other across the steep gorge of the Sangarius. We might have stayed there for days, or been compelled to retreat when food ran short, if the burgesses of Ancyra had not fixed things. Their eyes would be in danger if we lost, and Romans are very good at fixing.

  That evening a Roman of Ancyra hustled me off to translate to my lord. He was very pleased with himself. ‘Tell the Frankopole he will win tomorrow’s battle,’ he began. ‘The Caesar will cross the bridge, and I know his order of march. His Franks will lead the advance. I slipped over the river and had a talk with one of their women, a whore from Ancyra whom I knew in the old days. I pointed out that the curse of this country is the tribute we pay to the Emperor. Why should mercenaries fight for a few pieces of gold when by joining the other side they can have all they want, and still leave us richer than if we remained loyal to the city? Tomorrow the Franks will cross the bridge, but when they reach this side they will join your banner.’

  It was a dirty business, but it’s the sort of thing you get used to out east. I persuaded my lord that the burgess was telling the truth, and he was convinced when he heard the name of the Frankish leader. The Roman said he was called Papas, which is not a western name; but we remembered old Ralph de Mauron, who had talked of coming with us three years ago; everyone called him Pop, and he was the biggest rogue in Italy; if the Devil hadn’t got him yet he was just the man to change sides on the battlefield. We passed the word to be ready to fight next morning, but to be on the lookout for unexpected allies.

  That settled the battle of Zompi. Pop had his men under good control, and he played his ugly part skilfully; he cavorted about until the centre and left wing were also on our side of the river, and then joined us. The Roman reserve made off without fighting; it was led by the Strategus Botaniates who had seen the rout at Manzikert; he felt it his duty to save the last body of drilled troopers who still followed the Labarum. That left two thousand Romans on our side of the stream, their only retreat the narrow bridge; we were fifteen hundred strong, and expected them to surrender immediately.

  But I suppose the Caesar wanted to show that a Ducas can fight harder than a Comnenus; when we charged they threw away their bows and fought very bravely with swords and maces. My lord sent me to the rear, for I was his only trustworthy linguist in a world of treachery; I tried to watch the battle from a hilltop, but that sort of close combat, when both sides have charged to a standstill and are hacking over their horses’ ears, is very difficult to follow. It continued a long time, to the credit of the Romans, but the victory of mailed Franks over men with linen-clad limbs was never in doubt. One party of Romans nearly got away; they made a gallant charge, then suddenly turned about and rejoined their main body; I learned afterwards that they had been led by young Andronicus, who turned back at the last minute to rescue his father. But he left it too late; the Caesar was already in our hands, unhorsed and bruised but
not wounded; Andronicus lost his helm, and was then very gravely wounded in the head. His standard-bearer lowered the great battle-flag of the Domestic, and the Romans surrendered in a body. They had fought gallantly, and our men, who had suffered few casualties, were not in a bloodthirsty mood; quarter was given even to common soldiers who could pay no ransom.

  That evening our victorious warriors feasted, but as was only fair I had to work very hard. Our supporters from Ancyra were supposed to sort the prisoners, putting to one side gentlemen who could pay ransom, and offering the common soldiers the choice of serving Messer Roussel or going home in their shirts. But you can never trust a Roman to be honest with a Frank, and the men of Ancyra had friends or relations among the captives; I had to interview hundreds of prisoners, and I was only just in time to prevent the troopers learning that they would go free unblinded; if that had become generally known of course no one would have admitted he was rich enough to offer ransom.

  It was midnight when I was ready to report to my lord. I found him sober enough to give orders, though of course our victory called for celebration; most of his knights were round the same fire, and the drinking-party easily became a council of war.

  I explained that we could not begin to collect ransom until we had settled the fate of the common troopers. ‘If you let them go most of the rich will escape with them. If you mutilate them, or sell them to the infidel, you will anger the men of Ancyra and Amasia and Sebaste, who can still be most useful. If you keep them hanging about we must feed them, and the Turks have left little food in this land. Please give me orders at once.’

  ‘No, Messer Roger,’ my lord answered smiling; it was the first time I had been addressed by that gentleman’s title, and my heart warmed to my generous leader. ‘No, Messer Roger, I shall give no orders until I have heard your advice. No Frank really understands a Roman, but you know more about them than the rest of us. Eh, do you agree, Messer Ralph?’

  That made me notice the old rogue lying on the other side of the fire, in the greasy leather tunic he wore under his mail; for his baggage had been plundered by the camp-followers of both sides, as he thoroughly deserved. But he was still the nominal leader of a thousand men; my lord treated him with deference, though it was doubtful how long his men would obey a captain they despised.

  Old Pop answered lazily: ‘Do as you think right, Messer Roussel. Just remember that all Romans are treacherous intriguers, and the only way to keep your eyes is to betray them before they betray you. Promise them anything convenient. If you break your promise they will admire you the more.’

  My lord spoke in a noncommittal tone: ‘It’s a bore if no one believes you when you take oath on the Cross. I shall try to think of some bargain I can actually keep.’

  ‘We could do with reinforcements,’ said a knight. ‘If we allow these captives to join our banner they might fight for us honestly. Though Pop set them a bad example,’ he added in a low voice.

  I had been working hard and was sober, though everyone else was a little drunk. I thought it wise to get down to business before Pop tried to restore his dignity in some ridiculous quarrel.

  ‘These men would be glad to join our banner. Because of their language we must put them under their own officers, in a separate unit, and that makes it easy for them to change sides again. But they could be trusted to fight the Turks, while we hold our western border.’

  ‘That’s not much of a life,’ said my lord, ‘holding this long river line against superior numbers. We’ve won a great victory, and the boys want to relax. They won’t relish hard riding with no plunder to reward them, while their native auxiliaries kill Turks whose waistbands are stuffed with gold. But I’m not fit to take important decisions; this wine has a kick, in spite of the tar in it. Keep the captives alive. We can talk it over in the morning.’

  I was dismissed to snatch what sleep I could, while all the friendly Roman burgesses tried, in private interviews, to buy the freedom of some cousin in the defeated army. Life would have been smoother if my lord could have made up his mind about our future, but our success had been so astonishing that was not easy. We had routed the last army of Romania, but now we had to govern men who were more skilled in politics than any Frank. When you see a hostile banner all you have to do is overthrow it; victory can be too complete.

  For a week we remained by the Bridge of Zompi. The Turks kept out of our way, for we were now a very famous army, and most of the wounded died, as wounded do, which made things easier; but the Caesar was unwounded, and his son Andronicus seemed likely to recover, though Romans and Franks have different ideas about the treatment of a head wound; his father would not let him eat the strengthening beef and wine I provided. The other improvement in our position was that old Pop went bathing in the river, caught colic, and died within two days; there were the usual rumours of poison, but in this case I think they were unfounded; he was disliked, but our men didn’t know the country well enough to get hold of poison, and to the Romans he was just a typical Frank; for I am sorry to say they consider us all very treacherous. Pop was an old man who had led a rackety life; the cold water killed him, after wine had undermined his defences. Nobody mourned, not even his concubines, and his men joined our band as individuals. Messer Roussel was undisputed lord of the three Themes of Bucellarion, Sebaste and Armeniakon, held by the strongest army in Asia. So long as the neighbourhood could feed us we lived a pleasant idle life. But nobody knew what would happen next.

  9. High Politics

  What actually happened came as a surprise, though we might have foreseen it. But masterless mercenaries far from home take a girl friend and then change her for another, forgetting the wives they have left in some safe place. When our scouts sighted a body of Roman horse on the other side of the river we expected an embassy, but did not guess whom the Emperor would send as ambassador. Our scouts were of course Roman auxiliaries, and they reported to me; I seemed to do everything in that army except fighting. I was about to inform my lord that envoys were on the way when another scout came in, very excited because he had got near enough to the strangers to make out that their chief was a woman riding a warhorse, accompanied by three children on ponies. I went straight and interrupted Messer Roussel, though he was fitting a new saddle to his best horse, a job he took very seriously; and indeed it is important.

  ‘My lord,’ I said, ‘a lady and three children are two miles beyond the river, and since the lady rides a warhorse and even the little girl has a good pony they cannot be Romans come to ransom an officer. In this land of litters only the lady Matilda would ride a warhorse on a peaceful errand. Shall I inform your steward?’

  My lord was rather shaken. In the last six months we had completely forgotten the lady Matilda; at first Messer Roussel lived by himself, but when the big caravan got safely to Sinope a merchant made him a present of six young girls from the Causacus; he would have a stormy evening if my lady found them washing his shirts.

  ‘St Michael aid me!’ he said in some confusion. ‘It must indeed be the lady Matilda. Tell the steward to prepare for her honourable reception. Hustle off my hand-maids by the next mule-train to Sebaste; explain to Goodman Theophilus that I am grateful for his kindness but the girls don’t understand the care of Frankish arms. And drop a hint that they are not to be mentioned. If any man sings that song about the drake and his six ducks he shall ride picket until his bottom grows to the saddle. Get hold of two respectable married Italian women to attend my lady; and make sure they are not only married, but living with the right husbands. Is my shirt reasonably clean?’

  When my lady reached the river the whole camp had been prepared for her, by men who worked as frantically as though to repel a sudden assault. The captives had been set to cleaning our lines, and the women were collected in two separate enclosures, wives and the faithful concubines who had followed their men from Sicily in one, in the other local whores, guarded by sentries who had orders to keep out my lord’s children. A dismounted but fully armed guard
was mustered by the bridge, where Messer Roussel waited in his silk tunic, his uniform as Vestiarius. His knights stood by him, and since Messer Roger fitzOdo now ranked as a knight I witnessed the meeting.

  My lady looked very fit, and tougher than ever. At the western end of the bridge she dismissed her escort, who at once rode off towards the Bosphorus; she and her children, with a collection of mules and servants, charged over the river and reined up in a cloud of dust. She jumped from her horse and darted into my lord’s embrace.

  ‘Ah, my hero,’ she exclaimed, ‘so this is where you beat the whole army of Romania. I salute you on the battlefield, which my old friend Bryennius will render immortal when he writes his memoirs. But though I came because of the love I bear you, the Emperor would not have given me escort and baggage-mules if I had not also brought a message from him. May I deliver it now, in the presence of your council?’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ my lord answered. ‘I have no secrets from these knights, and I shall be glad of your advice.’

  ‘Well, little Michael is beat. When they told him of Zompi he hit his head against the wall and cried that he was a Jonah who should be cast into the sea. All he wants is to get you back in his service. I’ve brought the children and the maids, and my possessions, and a great treasure besides, a free-will offering from the Emperor. All I promised in return was to ask you to re-enlist under the Labarum. He will make you Hetairiarch, commander of all the foreign mercenaries; and if you give back Bucellarion and Sebaste you may keep Armeniakon as your private fief. Will you do it? You will be fighting in defence of Christendom, and our children will be Roman nobles.’