The Lady for Ransom

by Alfred Duggan

  Then there was a scurry of hoof-beats, and round a tent came my lady Matilda, riding her warhorse at the hand-gallop which was the slowest pace she would adopt even in a crowd of camels and camp-followers. She wore her green silk dress, slit to the middle for comfort in the saddle, with crimson Roman riding-boots showing underneath. On her head was her silver-gilt Roman crown, and a mass of necklaces and bracelets jangled all over her. Her hair was dyed an improbable red, and her face painted more vividly than I had ever seen it. In the crowd of more than two hundred naked men she picked out my lord without hesitation; she jumped from her horse and ran into his arms, then turned to address us as we swarmed round her.

  ‘You poor things, don’t be shy. I’ve borne three children and I know what a man looks like. Now then. I’m going to Artouch about the ransoms; though I insisted on coming here first to make sure you were still alive. How many are you?’

  ‘Two hundred and eleven at supper,’ my lord answered; he kept track of his followers as a leader should. ‘There were nearly four hundred taken,’ he added. ‘You might ask what became of the others, though I don’t think we shall see them again.’

  ‘Holy Michael! That’s more than eight thousand gold pieces, at forty pieces a man. But we’ll raise it somehow. By the way, boys, I suppose I have authority to dispose of all property in Metabole? I shall do it anyway, but I should like your consent.’

  ‘Do what you think best, my dear. But you’re not going to Artouch alone, without exchanging hostages? There’s nothing to stop him putting you in with us and demanding another ransom.’

  ‘What, put me in with two hundred strong men with no clothes on? I might not offer ransom to get away. Seriously, my lord, there’s no point in taking precautions as though we were dealing with a treacherous Norman. Artouch is a savage, and if we ask for hostages it will only put ideas into his thick head. Besides, there’s no time. You must be freed today, or you’ll die. I shall get straight down to business. Oh, I had better take a linguist. I can gossip in Greek, but I’m shaky about figures. Roger, will you help me? Here, you can’t negotiate with your legs hobbled like a cow on a common. Let me get at them.’

  She snatched a knife from the belt of a Turk who had strolled up to stare at the painted foreigner, and with a hearty swipe cut my legs free. She smiled as she handed back the knife: ‘Here, sir, and thanks for your assistance. No, you can’t have my finger-ring as well.’ The barbarian was rocking on his heels, as a horseman will who is unused to standing; as he tried to grab the ring she gave him a push that made him sit down. I felt frightened, but he grinned all over his face as he rose, and actually held her stirrup while she mounted. Turks are tough with one another, and never bear malice.

  All the idlers in camp had collected outside the tent of their leader. The crowd was so dense that even Matilda must ride at a walk, and I limped beside her on my bare feet. The sentry tried to push her in the direction of the sacred fire, but as she slid from her horse she thrust the reins in his hands and brushed past him. ‘No fires, thank you,’ she said with an artificial society smile. ‘I suppose you need them to get into training for Hell; but Christians find it quite warm already.’

  My lady often chatted in Italian when she found herself in a crowd of foreigners; she said it was only good manners to assume they could understand the language of gentlemen, and that even if they didn’t they would be flattered by the compliment. Now the Turks stared in fascinated awe at her brightly painted lips; they had never imagined anything like the lady Matilda, and they thoroughly enjoyed the unexpected entertainment; luckily they had decided at the outset that she was amusing, not dangerous.

  Artouch was not prepared for negotiations so early in the day, and there was a delay while his counsellors were summoned. He made his own decisions, but his council must be in attendance to bear witness that the ransom he received was divided fairly among his warriors. My lady filled in the time by walking round his tent, examining the trophies which hung there.

  ‘Really these tents are very splendid. But don’t they ever sit down? What, they squat on those cushions? If they fold up whenever they want a rest no wonder they ride in that silly way, with a bent knee. I suppose it hurts them to straighten their legs. He’s got some nice trophies. Oh dear, there’s the banner of St Michael. Well, he took it in fair fight, and none of my friends will see it here. I might try to buy it, but if I make an offer they’ll think it a precious relic, and we might squabble over the price. Better not, or they may call off the whole deal. Good Heavens, does he wash in a silver font? Still, that’s better than never washing at all. Ah, here he is. Quite a handsome man, if you forget those ridiculous bandy legs.’

  All Turks are bowlegged, the natural result of riding before they can walk; and their baggy trousers make their legs seem short and more crooked than they are. But even on his short legs Artouch was nearly as tall as my lady, and squatting on his cushion he looked as big as any champion.

  Matilda often tried to adopt the tone of Roman light conversation, and somehow she never got it quite right. But her chatter had one good effect; I was no longer a dispirited captive; I began to see the Turks through her eyes, not as mighty warriors but as ridiculous barbarians; they might have beaten us once, with the help of hot weather and a muddle about tactics, but we were as good as they if not better.

  As soon as the counsellors were arranged on their cushions Artouch grunted at the renegade to open proceedings. The Roman immediately put on a surly expression, and shouted: ‘You want to buy slaves? The price is forty gold pieces a man, as usual. Have you brought the money with you?’

  ‘That’s a fair price, and I’ll pay it. I’m glad your master is a man of business, though of course since I am a lady born I’m not good at reckoning large sums of money.’ The insult missed its mark; neither Romans nor Turks consider it low to haggle about money. ‘But before we begin I wish to inquire after some other friends of mine. What has become of the Caesar, and the kinsmen of his bodyguard?’

  ‘The Emperor ransomed his own kin; they have already left for the city. We did think at one time,’ the rascal said with a smile, ‘of putting them up to auction. More than one party seemed eager to buy. They must be very much beloved. But the Emperor made such a handsome offer, a thousand gold pieces for John and two hundred for each of his companions, that we knew no one else could match it.’

  ‘Oh well, I’ve done my best. I didn’t really expect I could help them. Now about my comrades. This is a straightforward matter of business, and it can be settled in a day if we trust one another. But if we argue about who pays over how much and when, and hostages for good faith, and all the other objections that can be raised, it will take as long as buying two hundred horses. Have you ever seen a Frank buying a warhorse?’

  The linguist laughed, and tried to explain the joke to his master. Romania is full of good horses, and the Romans buy and sell them as carelessly as though they were oxen; it is always considered very comical when a Frank insists on trying one, and thinking over the matter for a few weeks, and having it examined by all his friends, before he will pay down his money.

  Artouch now took a hand. He knew the Greek for ‘forty gold pieces’, which is the first phrase a Turk learns; forty is as high as most of them can count. He beckoned me to him, spluttered the Greek words, and pushed me back to my lady; then he did it all over again. His meaning was clear. The captives would be ransomed one at a time, for cash down. That simplified matters enormously; there would be no great heap of treasure to be guarded, and no problem of which should be handed over first.

  But my lady had not finished. Quite at her ease, she assumed the tone of haughty superiority a landowner uses to a money-grubbing merchant.

  ‘I want more than just their bodies. In this heat they can’t travel naked and barefoot. I won’t ask for weapons and horses, because I don’t suppose such things are for sale. But my friends must have shirts and shoes, and if there are any donkeys in camp I’ll offer a fair price for them.
Oh, and before we begin: I can’t pay the whole sum in nomismata from the mint in the city. You take gold by weight, of course, but how do you reckon the pound of silver?’

  The eyes of the renegade lit up. All Romans love bargaining, and so far the negotiations had gone too smoothly for him to show his skill; he pointed out that in Baghdad one pound of gold bought twenty pounds of silver, and that shirts were precious to nomads who had no skill in weaving. My lady was not to be cheated, and it seemed we might be arguing all day.

  But Artouch was bored. Also he was fascinated by Matilda; he could not take his eyes off her painted lips, and I saw him peer narrowly at the roots of her hair. Suddenly he jumped up, threw his whip at the linguist, and strode close to my lady. He pinched her cheek, and examined his fingers. Then he stuttered and spluttered, and jerked out a few Greek words he had picked up from his concubines: ‘You give present, me give present.’

  ‘Is this a dishonourable proposal?’ said my lady with a giggle.

  Artouch held the linguist by the ear and talked earnestly into his face; then he pushed the man over to my lady, and stood beaming while his terms were explained.

  ‘My great leader says he trusts you. If your nose were smaller he would have kept you in his tent. He will ride with you to your castle and the slaves shall ride also. He will give them clothing; that will be a present. But you must give presents in return. He wants that gown, and your face-paint, and all your jewels, and the maids who dress you. He says that when he sees a concubine wearing your gown and your paint he will be reminded of your courage and then his children will be even braver than otherwise they would be. That’s his message, madam, but I should like to add on my own that if you exchange presents with him he will be bound in honour never to attack you. It’s a splendid bargain.’

  The linguist was a scoundrel who thought only of a pleasant life in this world; when Artouch admired my lady’s courage he at once became polite and ingratiating.

  Turks are inconsequent creatures who seldom know in the morning what they will be doing by midday. Plans come to them suddenly, and then, like children, they cannot rest until they have carried them out. If their leader had ordered them to break camp they would at once have rounded up the camels; now, since he proposed that the captives should be delivered in Metabole they raced to saddle their ponies. As each man armed and mounted he rode to the muster, until six thousand warriors were assembled. My lady watched in growing perturbation. Suddenly she caught the linguist by the arm (everyone who wished to speak through that despised creature always caught hold of him; he must have been sore by evening).

  ‘The garrison of Metabole are frightened men,’ she said urgently. ‘If an army approaches they may flee to the hills. Two hundred captives are to be ransomed, and an escort of two hundred warriors should suffice.’

  ‘That’s all right, my lady,’ said the renegade, sneering. ‘Two hundred horsemen will drive the slaves. The rest of the horde will ride north to make a sheep pasture. That is a thing you Franks have never seen. You will find it interesting.’

  Just then our comrades made their appearance. Each man sat bareback on one of the commonest and roughest of the spare Turkish ponies, his feet tied below the belly; the animals wore no bridles, and a score of infidels rode as herders, driving them with whips. It was the most humiliating manner of riding that could be devised, but Artouch had kept his word. The slaves were mounted for the journey.

  I had hoped that in the bustle I might ride home in Matilda’s train; but then the Turks would have lost the forty pieces of gold that were my price. They remembered in time, and put me on a pony. To make up for the easy morning I had enjoyed as my lady’s linguist I was sat on it facing the tail, which was considered very amusing. Luckily someone tied a sheepskin round my shoulders, for otherwise the sun would have blistered my naked body. Then we set forth on our ten-mile ride, the herdsmen whooping behind, and trying to get their whiplashes under our ponies’ tails to make them buck. In fact we had a very rough time. But you must not regard this as torture; it was more in the nature of a practical joke, and when one of our mistreated ponies lashed out and broke a driver’s leg the other Turks thought it just as funny as anything that happened to us. These nomads are very childlike, in the worst sense of the word.

  My lady knew how far she could go; Artouch had taken a fancy to her, but that gave her no influence over his followers. She did not protest at our treatment, and even joined in the laughter; but she rode beside Messer Roussel and slipped a stirrup-leather round his pony’s neck; my lord came home led by his wife, which is undignified enough; but he was not driven by laughing infidels like a stray goat.

  Artouch and his escort of two hundred warriors rode with us. The main horde had gone ahead in the direction of Nicomedia. After about six miles we caught up with them, where they had halted to ‘make a pasture’; I suppose this was deliberate policy, to impress us with their might. It was certainly very unpleasant to watch.

  First we met small parties by deserted farmsteads. Some had dismounted to fell the trees which cluster round every Roman farm, others were knocking holes in the rubble walls; when they have made two small holes they pass through a leather rope, then they all catch hold of the ends and urge their ponies to pull; they are clever at choosing the spot, and by pulling out quite a small piece they cause the whole building to collapse. The work of countless generations of husbandmen was being utterly undone before our eyes. Farther on the main body had encircled a hilltop; in the midst of the circle was a collection of stray animals and stubborn peasants who had clung to the ruins of their farms; the Turks waited until we were close enough to get a good view, and then shot every living creature to death. By next spring the whole countryside would be a desert of grass, like the plains of Magog where their ancestors grazed their sheep.

  By mid-afternoon we were outside the closed gates of Metabole. My lady approached alone, and after some hesitation the gatekeepers opened. Then everything went without a hitch. Shortly afterwards she came out on foot, dressed in a plain gown of brown wool; her four maids went before her, each bearing a copper tray with her jewels and the ingredients of her complexion; their faces were attractively painted, and they wore silk. You may think that my lady did wrong to deliver her personal attendants to the infidel; but they were eager to go. They were slaves from the Caucasus, where slavery is regarded as a method of getting on in the world; under a Christian owner they might be pampered, but we are too proud of our pedigrees to marry them; the infidels, who hardly know marriage as we understand it, have no objection to making the prettiest face among their concubines the ruler of her colleagues; in Artouch’s household they might end as queens. As to religion, at home they worship fairies; while they belonged to Messer Roussel they were nominal Christians, but they would cheerfully embrace any other faith that seemed profitable. It was a kindness to give them to a rich master.

  My lady herself carried a tray with forty gold pieces arranged in piles. Artouch was very affable, and permitted my lord to be the first captive redeemed. Then a stream of women came out, each bearing the ransom for her man; very soon the gold coins were finished, but my lady wisely insisted that we should be generous with the equivalent in silver or jewels, and Artouch accepted them at first glance. I had no wife or concubine, so I was one of the last to be released; but there was enough for all, and my lady did not forget me. That night we ate meat and wine, wearing Christian shirts and chausses as we crowded the courtyard of Metabole.

  12. Matilda the Leader

  But we were in a very bad way. The thirty sergeants who held the castle were still fully armed; in the baggage were spare swords and lances, enough to give every man a bit of steel; but there was no mail, and not enough shields to go round. No one trained to fight in mail can fight without it; or if he tries he is soon killed, forgetting to guard himself. Worst of all was the sense of disgrace; we no longer thought of ourselves as warriors. This may seem an exaggeration. In the west good knights are always being
captured and released for ransom; but they are either seized as they lie under their horses, or at worst they yield when a castle is battered; and their captors are fellow-Christians, who happen to have taken the other side in some unimportant squabble. We had surrendered in the open field, of our own free will. To hearten us, my lady made a speech:

  ‘This is a very mournful occasion. Last week there were nearly three thousand mailed Franks on Mount Sophon; now there are two hundred in this little castle, without mail or arms. But you are still the guardians of a mass of women and children, your own or those left by the comrades who fell beside you. They must be saved. We must get out of here as quick as we can, for there is nothing to eat where Artouch makes his pastures. Where shall we go?’

  There was no answer. No one cared.

  ‘Very well. If you have no opinions of your own you must listen to me. We can seek the Emperor’s mercy. He’s a fellow-Christian, and he might give us ships. What do you think of that?’

  Messer Roussel looked up. ‘That won’t do. He would blind me. But we might make for the coast and steal ships for ourselves.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ Matilda said firmly. ‘You might steal one ship, or perhaps two. But that would mean leaving behind three thousand women and children. Remember, it was the women who rescued you from captivity. We might have fled to the city with your plunder. We were faithful, and you must be faithful to us.’

  ‘Well, what can we do?’ someone asked. ‘We can’t fight without mail, and we know no other trade. We must run away somewhere. Why not to Italy?’