"That's the mistake all Franks make," she answered with a sob. "It isn't a rich land, though it may have been rich long ago. Romans get money out of it, because their tax-gatherers can get blood from a stone. If you rule it in Frankish fashion, taking harvest dues and hearth-silver, you won't have enough to live on. Look at Constantinople! The Roman Emperor who ruled it was the richest lord in the world; Baldwin hasn't two pennies to rub together. When we get our fee it won't bring in half the money its Roman lord used to get out of it. Anyway, we won't get a fee, because our allies will cheat us out of it."
"That doesn't worry me. They may try to cheat, but our swords are heavier than theirs. If they start anything we shall just take all Wallachia."
"Prince William intends to take it anyway, whether his allies give him an excuse or not," she answered calmly, as though such double-dealing were the most natural thing in the world. "But I suppose King Manfred will get most of it in the end. Don't you see, my dear William, your fine allied army is after three different things. The Emperor Frederic used to write himself King of Albania, so Manfred will try to snatch what his father held. But old Angelus used to rule there so the Despot won't give it to him. The Despot wants Constantinople, and our Prince can't help him to take it from a Frankish Emperor. Prince William would be content with southern Wallachia; but he can't have it, because the Despot's favourite bastard is married to the daughter of the Wallach chieftain. You will be like three men in one boat, each steering for a different harbour. I'm sorry you must ride with the mesnie. Couldn't you break a leg and stay behind?"
"Now here's my wife willing me to break a leg. If tomorrow my horse rolls down the hillside I shall denounce you as a witch. Seriously, my dear, things are not so black as you see them. We don't trust Grifons and they don't trust us. Very well. We shan't get into a position where they can betray us. Remember, Frankish knights can ride through any army of Grifons. We may not be able to conquer the land, but at least we must come home safely."
"What an unlucky boast," exclaimed Melisande. "Unsay it quickly. Tell St. Theodore you didn't mean it, and put a silver cover on his shield to prove it."
From the chest at the foot of our bed she rummaged out a little picture of St. Theodore, the warrior-saint who is more popular in Romanie even than St. George. It was a new picture, so far without silver covering; dear Melisande admitted that she had bought it in Andreville, to seek St. Theodore's help while I was on the coming campaign. It must have been painted by a schismatic; but St. Theodore is a genuine saint, honoured also in the Latin calendar. An ounce of silver on his shield would make a beginning for the complete covering which these little pictures expect from their devotees. I did what Melisande asked of me, which comforted her a little; though she still feared that my boasting must bring me bad luck.
On the other hand, every Frank in Romanie thought the campaign would be very lucky indeed. The most obvious and amazing example of this luck was that the knights of Satines came willingly to serve under Prince William. Last summer they had fought against him; but we were all a little ashamed of that stupid civil war which had weakened the Frankish cause, and the Megaskyr was absent in France. Once the St. Omers had given a lead everyone hastened to muster under the banner of Villehardouin. Even the lords of La Bondonice and La Sole came with their mesnies, though no one had expected them to heed the oaths of homage they had sworn after the defeat at Mount Caride. Sanudo, Duke of the Archipelago, and Orsini, Count of Cephalonia, brought their meagre followings; though they came as partners and allies, for no one has ever pretended that these Italian pirate-chiefs owe homage to Lamorie.
Another stroke of luck was that we did not have to invent a pretext for our invasion. In fact when we marched from the isthmus it was not to invade a hostile land. In Nice Michael Palaeologue had deposed and blinded the boy-Emperor, after the custom of the Grifons, and sought to impress his new subjects by extending his dominions. His brother had invaded Wallachia at the head of a great army of foreign mercenaries. Our ally the Despot Michael was hard-pressed by this John Palaeologue, and begged us to help him. Best of all, we heard that four hundred knights from Sicily had actually landed in Wallachia. King Manfred was observing the terms of his treaty, a thing you can never count on in advance. These Ghibellines came from Sicily; but rumour said they were in fact Germans, equipped with the newfangled German plate-armour. I hope I don't hurt anyone's feelings when I say that Germans have a higher repute on the battlefield than Sicilians; in their armour of plate they were said to be invincible.
Our army, as it entered southern Wallachia, was stronger than any force put into the field by the Franks of Romanie since the capture of Constantinople. We were nearly a thousand knights, with servants and grooms and spearmen about fifteen thousand men of all sorts. There were no ladies with us, unless you count a few of the kind of woman who always follow armies.
Gossip from Lamorie said that the Princess Anna feared that the de la Roches would overthrow her husband in his absence, which is the kind of thing any Grifon would do in similar circumstances. She was supposed to have stormed at her lord, saying that while there was a single de la Roche in Satines she must stay in Lamorie to keep an eye on the foes of her unborn children. Which is likely enough in itself; but the men who told us of it would not have been allowed in the Villehardouin bedchamber to overhear a private conversation.
Once we had passed La Bondonice we were in the lands of the Wallachs, a race of foreigners strange to me. They adhere to the schismatic church, and in the old days they were subject to the Grifon Emperor; but they are not Grifons. One of the oddest things about them is their speech, which at a distance sounds like Italian though when you get close you find the words are different. Some of the Orsini's islanders claimed that they could understand it, but the Lombards of La Bondonice said that for their part they could not. On the other hand, there are many different dialects of Italian.
In their customs, as well as in their language, the Wallachs differ from their Grifon neighbours. They are herdsmen rather than farmers; they lead an unsettled life, moving with their flocks from one valley to another. But they go in for sheep more than horned cattle, and do their shepherding on foot; they are not so formidable as Turks or Pechenegs, who are all mounted herdsmen. Yet the Wallach warriors are not to be despised; tall shaggy men wrapped in long cloaks of sheepskin, very jealous of their honour and quick to take offence. They pasture their flocks wherever they find grazing, without bothering about the rights of the landlord.
At that time all the Wallachs in Romanie acknowledged a supreme lord, one Tarchonites; and his daughter was the wife of John Ducas, the bastard and favourite son of the Despot Michael. At the end of our first march over the frontier this Ducas met us at the head of his men, Wallachs with a sprinkling of Grifon nobles. They were mounted, but not on war-horses; their light ponies would be no use in the charge and the riders carried short curved sabres. That was a grave disappointment. Of course we had not expected to find foreigners capable of charging in line beside Frankish knights, but we had hoped for squadrons of horse-archers. The Nicene army we were to fight contained many mounted archers, and we needed some of the same kind of people to keep them away from the main battle, where their interference can spoil a good joust.
It seemed that these light horse would be useless for anything except scouting, or ravaging the land of our enemies. We had no need of scouts, since we intended to march against the Nicenes and provoke them into meeting us; and as for ravaging, we could do that ourselves and did not want speedier and more agile competitors. We grumbled a bit, until Sir Geoffrey reminded us that with war in their land these savage warriors would not stand idle; unless they rode with us they would ride against us. It was better that they should be on our side, and we must make an effort to be pleasant to them.
While we passed through their land they were most hospitable. Old Tarchonites slaughtered a flock of sheep to feast the whole Frankish army. It was a barbaric and romantic repast, with rows of
blazing bonfires stretching down the valley, while warriors squatted on the ground before joints of sizzling mutton. There was plenty to eat, always something to remember when you are on campaign; but not nearly enough to drink. These Wallachs make no wine of their own; and though they steal it from their neighbours, stolen wine seldom reaches headquarters, as any veteran will tell you. Where I sat, among the household knights, we were offered beer full of barley-husks. Some of the sergeants, I understand, had to be content with water.
But at the principal fire, corresponding to the high table, there was wine; which started a bit of trouble that had grave consequences later. Tarchonites sat there, with our ally John Ducas and his wife. I had already caught a glimpse of her, a tall plump woman with bold staring eyes; a real barbarian, but a fine animal of the kind that appeals especially to very civilised men.
She was the only lady at the feast. Of course some of our leaders made the usual courteous conversation, praising her beauty as though they were in a western hall; it was the only form of polite conversation they knew. That apparently is contrary to Wallach etiquette; but neither the lady Helen Ducaina nor her lord understood French, and no harm was done. Then, after the wine had gone round more than once, an Orsini discovered that he could make himself understood in Italian.
The rumour ran quickly from fire to fire that there had been trouble among the leaders. We could see that the Wallachs were annoyed with us, though we could not understand what they said. I think they were in two minds whether to attack us, though we were actually eating their food at their hearths, their guests in the strongest sense of the term. Perhaps that kept them from a breach of hospitality, perhaps it was the lucky chance that we had our swords with us. Anyway, the feasting ended early, and we went quietly back to our camp without a blow struck.
Next morning, when we took up the march again, Sir Geoffrey rode among his household to warn us against causing further ill feeling. He himself saw nothing very serious in it, but his uncle had commanded him to pass on the warning.
"Last night the only guest at the high table who had a good time was the lady Helen Ducaina," he said with a mocking grin. "If you can call a bare patch of ant-infested mud a high table. I mean the fire where the chief of these barbarians entertained the leaders. It was a sticky evening to start with; filthy wine, and everything spoken through interpreters, which takes the sparkle out of the wittiest crack. We each of us said something polite to the pop-eyed bitch—you know what one says on these occasions. How we would all fight the better knowing that she saw our prowess, and begging for a garter to wear in our helms. The interpreters made rather heavy weather of it, and I don't think half was passed on. Even so, John Ducas did not like it at all. Apparently at a Wallach feast you should look right through a married lady, or turn your back on her; at any rate, pretend she isn't there."
My lord heaved a sigh, shrugging his shoulders.
"Then one of the Orsini boys found he could manage without the interpreter. His Italian is pretty debased anyhow, and he was reared in Rome where they are used to making themselves understood by foreign pilgrims. He jabbered his patois straight at the lady, and after a pause she began to answer him. Soon he was laying his hand on his heart, begging her to visit his island home. Mind you, I think he spread it on too thick. He was making fun of a she-barbarian who doesn't understand the convention of courteous love. If I had been her husband I wouldn't have liked it either. But John Ducas, boiling with rage, took quite the wrong line. Instead of complaining that a guest was being too familiar with the daughter of his host, which was the truth, he stood up and made a speech at uncle William. He pointed out that his father was the mighty Despot of Wallachia. His grandfather also had been Despot of Wallachia, and if you went back far enough his ancestors had reigned as Emperors of the Grifons in Constantinople, Equals of the Apostles and all the rest of the high-sounding titles. He spoke in Grifon, of course, so we could all understand him."
My lord chuckled softly to himself.
"He went on much too long, though uncle William very civilly didn't interrupt him. All the time he was boasting of his lineage, saying how frightful it was that such a thing should be done to him; instead of complaining that a young man with too much drink taken had displayed a streak of ordinary Italian vulgarity. It was a good speech, of course, well turned and well constructed. Any educated Grifon can churn out the stuff at a moment's notice. He ended with a fine peroration: 'You must apologise to my father, Despot and son of Despots, heir to the Empire of New Rome, guardian of our ancient culture and our true religion, the hero who will soon be enthroned in the seat of his mighty ancestors.'"
Sir Geoffrey was shaking with laughter.
"Uncle William stood up to reply. He's a head taller than the angry little Grifon. For a minute he looked the little man up and down, to make sure we were all listening. I could see from the twinkle in his eye that there was a good answer coming; and he delivered it in Grifon, so that all his audience could take it in. He began very slowly and solemnly. 'There has indeed been an insult to a noble line. I shall apologise to your father, the mighty Despot, son of all those eminent men you mentioned just now. But, my lord, I shall go further. I shall do even more than you have asked of me. I shall apologise also to your mother, as soon as I can find the washtub where she works in the castle of Arta. Thus full restitution shall be made to both sides of your noble family."
"That broke up the party," Sir Geoffrey went on after we had stopped laughing. "It was naughty of uncle William. For one thing, the Despot did not leave his girl-friend at the castle wash-tub, though by all accounts that was where he found her. They say she is now set up in a snug little house in the town. All the same, John Ducas got what was coming to him. I have nothing against bastards as a class. The world is full of them, and we have all done our share in filling it. A bastard can be a gentleman of honour, as we all know. But a bastard who boasts of his ancestors —that's too much.
"So there's the whole story of last night's quarrel," Sir Geoffrey continued quietly. "I seem to have told it back to front, but that sometimes happens when I have got hold of a good tale. I was supposed to tell it as an awful warning against making advances to Wallach ladies. Don't do it, boys. Be faithful to your wives, if you can manage it. If not, no one will mind you chasing peasant girls. But Wallach ladies are out of bounds, remember."
John Ducas and his men came with us to the muster. But they marched by themselves, and were not at all friendly.
7. PELAGONIE
At the time I did not grasp the geography of Wallachia, the land we had ridden so far to defend; and I am still vague about it. But we could tell from the shape of the landscape that we were in a foreign country. It is as hilly as Lamorie, and in fact the mountains are higher; but everything is on a more spacious scale. The valleys are very wide, two or three miles as often as not; the great ranges sweep up gently, interrupted by flat shoulders on which are set small, poverty-stricken, strongly-walled towns. There is not much cultivation, and some of that impermanent; in summer the locals snatch a crop from the river beds, knowing that winter floods will sweep away their boundary-stones. Everywhere rock thrusts through the scanty soil. But in spring the rocky ground is covered with tall grass, very good pasture for cattle and sheep. From such a land the Despot drew a poor revenue, though all his subjects were warriors.
The little towns, studded with high-domed churches, were inhabited by Grifon burgesses; though most of them wore short swords in their sashes and moved with the swagger of free mountaineers. The herdsmen we saw in the open country were many of them Wallachs; but sometimes we came across little gangs of Arnauts, true savages who speak an incomprehensible language and live by stealing laden mules from one another. These Arnauts, said to be the fiercest warriors in Romanie, inhabit the region of Albania, which was claimed by both the Despot and King Manfred; but they acknowledge no lord and are constantly at war with their neighbours. Grifon merchants employ them to drive mule-trains, for they are skilful
with mules and even the boldest robbers fear them. But they seldom arrive at their destination with exactly the goods entrusted to them; either they have stolen more on the way or other Arnauts have robbed them.
When at last we joined the great host of the Despot we found it made up of these motley races. It was the largest army I have ever seen, and every man in it was brave and active. All the same it was not really a formidable force; since the warriors were experienced cut-throats whose chief concern was to come out of battle alive rather than veterans who will stand in line and endure casualties. No Grifon trusts a Wallach, while both races fear and despise the Arnauts, Besides, these mountaineers wore light mail and preferred to fight on foot, though most of them had some kind of horse or mule to carry them on the march.
In a separate encampment lay the contingent sent by King Manfred, and we were very cheered to see them. At that time all the west was talking about the new plate armour devised in Germany, which made a knight invulnerable if he could find a destrier strong enough to carry it. Though these men had come from Sicily they were not Sicilians, but a draft from the German garrison of the island.
We joined the Despot in a wide valley, named Pelagonie after a little town at the head of it. The Despot's men were encamped on a spur of the western slope, behind a ditch and bank such as all Grifons dig for fear of night attacks. To the north lay the Germans, and we were directed to camp on the south. I think the Grifons would have liked us also to dig a ditch round our camp, as though we were afraid of our enemies. But apart from the disgrace of such a precaution we had no labourers to dig for us; Prince William had brought only knights and sergeants and their grooms. A good stream of clear water had been reserved for our use, and we found waiting for us in camp abundant pork, plenty of wine, and not quite enough bread. In these mountains forage is always a problem, but the local peasants had been set to cutting grass.
Lord Geoffrey's Fancy Page 11
