Lord Geoffrey's Fancy

by Alfred Duggan

  The sight of armed sentries was enough to save the wine from pillage; we did not have to draw our swords. But standing there, looking across the wide and empty valley, we came to our senses sooner than our comrades in the crowd. On the opposite range of hills lay the army of the Sebastocrator, an army so dangerous that our allies had fled in panic without striking a blow; how did Prince William propose that we should escape the danger? The sun was setting. If we also retired in the dark we must abandon all our gear, and even then the light horsemen of the Nicenes might overtake us on the march.

  Sir Geoffrey never forgot his followers, even those who had been posted on detachment. Just after sunset sergeants came to relieve us, and the cooks were keeping our dinners hot for us. We found all the eight hundred Frankish knights sitting round good fires, pleasantly full of pork and wine; while their leaders conferred in the midst of them, so that nothing could be decided without the knowledge of every warrior.

  By now it was too late to escape the onslaught of the Nicenes next morning. We were in for a battle against heavy odds.

  I was too exhausted, and too hungry, to pay attention to the council going on just out of easy hearing. But I realised that our leaders must be sensibly discussing practical business when a crier summoned any knights who had fought against Turkish horse-archers in Syria to come and give their advice. There were quite a number of them; for many knights who hold fees in Romanie pass a year or two at Acre doing their duty by the Holy Places.

  Presently the council broke up, and by the light of flaring pine-torches my lord collected the mesnie of Escorta to hear his plans for the coming battle. That is how I see Sir Geoffrey today, when I shut my eyes to pray for his soul; rocking easily on his feet in the glare of the torches, the blazon of Bruyere on his surcoat, his mail coif thrown back on his shoulders and his fair hair cascading below his linen cap, his left hand on his sword and his right raised as he spoke; at ease in danger, mocking, happy, deadly to his enemies, the elder brother of his knights.

  "Well, gentlemen, it's like this," he began casually. "What with public meetings and changes of plan and one tiling and another we have loitered in this camp until we can't get away without a battle. Tomorrow the Sebastocrator of Nice will attack us in overwhelming force. If we try to run away his light horse will overtake us. Very well, we run away all the same; but we run away through the middle of his army. That is to say, we charge his line, break it, and keep going. To my mind that's much the safest plan."

  When the cheering had died away he continued easily.

  "I suggested this plan, and the council agreed to it. So to you and me fall the honour of leading the charge. We gallop in a wedge, behind the banner of Bruyere. The others, Villehardouin, de la Roche, Pallavicini, Stromoncourt, Orsini, fit in wherever they may be most useful. So don't complain that I stint you of glory.

  "Now all this won't be as dangerous as it sounds," he went on. "The Nicenes look like a very big army, but in fact they are a lot of little armies. The Sebastocrator leads his own men, the usual Grifon foot and light horse. They won't bother us. In addition he has masses of hired mercenaries, Turks, Magyars, Pechenegs, and the Wallachs of John Ducas if they haven't changed sides again. Mercenaries seldom die hard. We can ride through any of those if we hit them squarely. There's only one group of the enemy who may stand up to us; two or three hundred Germans in plate, like the Germans who fled this afternoon with the Despot and his men. Germans fight well, always, and they have this new armour. All the same, as I explained at the beginning, there are at most three hundred of them and we are eight hundred. So that you can say we are the largest army in the field. Eight hundred men who speak the same language and have been trained to fight in the same way. If you back me up properly I don't see how we can be beaten. You will back me up, I know.

  "All the same, it won't be a walkover. We mustn't make any mistakes. The Sebastocrator has one great advantage, his horse-archers. Horse-archers can be deadly to mailed knights, as any veteran of the Turkish wars will tell you. That's why we consulted the veterans when we made our plan. If a mounted bowman gallops away, shooting behind him, there's nothing you can do to harm him; and sooner or later he will hit your horse. However, we have thought of a counter. It was my idea in the first place, so you will agree that it must be a good one. Here it is:

  "We don't know how the Nicenes will draw up their line of battle, but we can be sure of one thing. The Sebastocrator will put in the forefront his mailed German horse, the most highly paid and highly esteemed of his mercenaries. Mind you, there will be good men and true knights among them, for all that they take wages to fight for schismatic Grifons against Crusaders. Their leader is the Duke of Carinthia, and some of them are genuine volunteers who came to fight the sergeants of King Manfred because in Germany they are sworn foes of the Hohen-staufen. They couldn't know that Manfred's men would run away with the others. Well, those are our most dangerous opponents, and the Sebastocrator will be delighted if we charge straight against them. They will be placed where we can get at them easily. That's what we do, without any hesitation. We begin to gallop before we are within arrow-range and ride straight for the Germans. Follow me into their ranks, and out the other side. Then the horse-archers can't shoot at us, for fear of hitting their own allies. Is that clear? Any questions?"

  There was a scattering of the usual silly questions, which people will ask at these conferences to show they have been listening. In which direction would we ride after we had broken through? How would we recognise the Germans in the line of battle? (These both got the same answer: follow the banner of Bruyere.) But no one could think of an improvement on the plan devised by Sir Geoffrey.

  We ate and drank as much as we could hold, since tomorrow we must cut loose from our supplies. Then we went to bed early, in fine tents under a load of extra blankets, just for the pleasure of using the Despot's baggage. We were not particularly frightened. Our position was so hazardous that a famous Grifon warrior had chosen public disgrace rather than remain in it. But Sir Geoffrey had explained to us what we must do, and with him to lead us we could do it. I slept soundly and awoke feeling cheerful. As I strolled towards the breakfast fires an encounter with my lord brought me to my senses.

  He was already armed, if indeed he had disarmed during the night; and on his way back from the horse-lines. He put his hand on my shoulder and led me aside to a dingle beside the latrines, where a powerful stink kept loiterers away.

  "William," he said with one of his engaging smiles, "you may be my kinsman; and anyway I know you for a true knight. I want to give you a private message. If by some chance you should get back to Lamorie, tell the lady Isabel that she is under no obligation to live in Carytena. She hates the place, and it doesn't agree with her. But she may think it her duty to stay there until some cousin of mine comes out from Champagne to take over. It won't be necessary. Lamorie will be full of vacant fees, and there will be no danger of usurpation."

  I was still not fully awake. I answered mechanically: "I will deliver your message, my lord." Then I grasped the meaning behind it. "If by some chance I should get back? So most of us will remain in the valley of Pelagonie? Last night you made it sound so easy."

  "Last night I was encouraging the troops, cousin. Today I am talking business. In an hour or so we shall charge against twenty times our numbers. It's the best end, now that we are in this trap. Our enemies are the schismatic enemies of God. We shall die like true knights, shield on neck, helm closed, sword out. That's the end that knights are dubbed for. It has been waiting for us all our lives. But, as I said, some of us may be lucky. If you are not among them, mind you take some Germans with you. Now what about breakfast? I can smell bacon frying."

  I pulled myself together enough to smile as I left him. There was a great crowd round our half-dozen priests, but I got myself shriven before I ate.

  All the time I ran my fingers over Tom's girth and bridle, and checked once again the fastening of my mail, I felt myself to be in a
queer waking dream. I kept on thinking: That was the last mouthful I shall ever eat, this is the last time I shall hear a lark singing—until we were mounted and forming into line, and I could say: This is the last time I shall fondle poor Tom's floppy ears. So that at least one of these doleful prophecies came true.

  I had been silent and abstracted; but that is nothing unusual just before a charge, and my neighbours respected my privacy. When we were in line and ready to move off I forced myself to take an interest in my surroundings.

  For the first time I saw the army of Nice, which by this time filled the floor of the valley. There must have been more than twenty thousand men, the greater part of them mounted. In the centre I could recognise the great battle-flag of the Sebastocrator; behind it was a square block of Grifon foot, who did not interest us. On the right of these foot rode the contingent of armoured Germans; there could be no mistaking the western heraldry of their shields among the regimented patterns of the Grifons. Close helms hid their heads, and their armour of plate made them look larger than life-size. At first I could not make out what else seemed strange about them; then I saw that they carried no lances. Their equipment was so ponderous that they could not charge at the gallop, and therefore they were armed only with heavy swords.

  On the wings of the array, edging forward to give it the shape of a half-moon, rode the unarmoured horse-archers, insignificant men on common little nags—and our most dangerous foes.

  Tom began to dance under me, and suddenly I was awake and living in the present. A length ahead of me rode Sir Geoffrey, with Sir John de Catabas carrying the banner of Bruyere just behind him. On my right were three other knights, with the rest of the mesnie of Escorta behind us; behind them jostled all the destriers of Frankish Romanie, bearing eight hundred of the most gallant knights in the world.

  Behind the solid clump of ungainly Germans stretched the bruised grass of the farther slope. My eye followed it to the crest, sharp against the blue sky. Over that crest lay safety, Melisande and the soft comfort of Lamorie. We outnumbered the Germans by at least two to one. We were the Franks of Romanie, who had conquered broad lands from the Grifons. We might be in a tight place, but only very good men could keep us there. All round me thundered the war-cry: Passavant—Get Forrard! Suddenly I felt confident.

  When we charged the enemy were crossing the valley-floor. Four hundred yards of smooth ground stretched before us, the slope favouring us all the way. Tom had no turn of speed, but he was sure-footed; I held his neck straight and kept my place.

  I was on the outside of the column; but on the left, the safe side, with my shield between by body and the foe. In fact I was safer than if I had ridden in the centre, where a fallen man must be be trampled to pulp. As the distance narrowed I dug in my spurs, until Tom squealed with rage. When his blood was up he would not flinch from angry stallions, for all that he was a mere gelding. Then I was squeezing him for the final bound. My lance tore at the palm of my hand as it shivered on a German shield.

  The Germans met us at a slow trot. As we galloped into them the shock was tremendous; but they were heavier men on heavier horses, and they held us. The man who had taken my lance on his shield remained firm in the saddle. His horse also kept its feet. But something had to give; his girth snapped. The saddle, with rider still erect, slid over the horse's tail. Then I drew my sword and crouched under my shield, and the air seemed full of heavy Nuremberg steel.

  The banner of Bruyere forged steadily ahead. In the joust Sir Geoffrey had singled out the Duke of Carinthia, and had overthrown horse and man together. Sir John de Catabas kept station half a length behind him, his right hand busy with the banner and his sword still scabbarded. Behind us the other mesnies added their weight to the charge, and "Passavant" sounded buoyantly.

  I found it useless to bang with my sword against a German cuirass, forged from a solid plate of steel. Nowadays the young men use the point, and go for the joints in the harness; but most of us were new to plate-armour and we did not know how to cope with it. We plied our spurs more than our swords, urging our horses to break the hostile line.

  I think we would have managed it, in time. We were still edging forward when disaster fell on us. Suddenly I was amazed to see the horse which blocked my way collapse on his side, and then I heard the unmistakable hiss of an arrow. They fell all round us, but chiefly on the Germans. For a moment I had a wild hope that some allies somewhere were helping us to win clear; though they were doing it in a very risky fashion, for several of their arrows had fallen on Frankish horses. Then I remembered that we had brought no archers into battle. Only our enemies carried bows.

  Both sides were so astonished by the arrows that fighting ceased. I had time to look around, time to understand the amazing but characteristic perfidy of the Grifon commander. His Hungarian and Turkish horse-archers had surrounded the mellay, in which his most valued mercenaries were closely engaged; they poured their arrows into friend and foe alike.

  Only a Grifon would have ordered this shooting down of his own men. The ruse won him the battle, and I believe that modern Grifon experts on military affairs praise his resource most highly. If any of my readers should be tempted by the plump golden hyperpers of Constantinople to take service under the schismatic Emperor, let him remember how Grifons treat their mercenaries; in Grifon eyes the only good Frank is a dead Frank.

  The Germans were falling fast, and there was still a chance that some of us would win clear. I heard a great shout of "Passavant" as Sir Geoffrey charged again. Then his crest vanished as his horse was shot under him. Of course all his mesnie charged to his rescue. We were desperate to get out of this trap, but not frenzied by instant fear; for the little Turkish arrows could not penetrate sound mail. Our horses were vulnerable, but not their riders.

  All the same, a knight caught under a dead horse might be trampled to death; Sir Geoffrey must be saved if we could do it. As we pushed forward there was a stir on our right flank, and the Prince at the head of his mesnie charged to help us. It was the most gallant deed ever performed by Prince William, and I hope it was recorded in Heaven. Like every other Frank in Lamorie he loved his nephew, though sometimes he was exasperated by Sir Geoffrey's casual independence.

  A great helm with its towering crest makes an attractive mark for arrows. The Prince was the next to disappear. His mesnie pulled up in a welter of floundering horses to keep off the Germans while he struggled to his feet. That was the last I saw of the battle. Two arrows lodged in Tom's quarters, penetrating to the guts; he reared up in pain, and fell backwards before I could my slip feet from the stirrups.

  When I recovered consciousness a few moments later Tom was lying dead across my legs. I was unhurt, but I could not move. I pulled my shield over my head, and unfastened the chain which held my sword-hilt to my breast. Then I managed to unfasten the belt which held my dagger as well as the empty sword-scabbard, and pushed the whole thing to arm's length. A plunderer who finds a good sword on the field will go off with his booty; but if he takes it from the person of a helpless enemy he is tempted to use it before moving on.

  The massacre of horses was quickly over. Soon the noise of fighting died away. Then a Grifon foot-sergeant was pulling at my shield and grinning into my face. He played with me a little, pricking at my mail with the knife in his hand. But from the way he looked at my feet I could see he knew about knightly spurs; calling some comrades to help him, he levered Tom's carcass off my legs. Half an hour later I was standing stripped to my shirt, my hands bound behind me, a prisoner of the Grifons.

  8. THE GRIFONS

  Once my hands were tied I knew I was reserved for ransom. I could look about me, no longer in fear of imminent death. After such a disastrous defeat it was comforting to see that very few of our Frankish knights had been killed; there were nearly as many prisoners as there had been horsemen in the charge. Even in that unfortunate situation I was amused to note that the Grifon soldiers, who are ruled by regulations in everything, had carried out what
I suppose were standing orders in their army. A small group of prisoners had been left with hose as well as shirts; and they were all great lords who had worn crested helms. Everyone knows that a crested helm means a great lord, but only Grifons would decide that a helm-wearer deserves to keep his shanks decently covered; and having made that rule, carry it out punctiliously in practice.

  Sir Geoffrey, thank Heaven, was on his feet and apparently unhurt. So were the Prince of Lamorie and the leaders from Satines and the islands. That does not mean, of course, that they had hung back in the onset. The mail of a rich baron is proof against arrows and swords, so that he is unlikely to be killed in a mellay unless someone deliberately cuts his throat while he lies helpless on the ground.

  I may as well add now, what I learned soon after, that our terrible defeat at Pelagonie cost us few lives. All our horses were killed, but hardly any knights or sergeants; as to the foot, chiefly servants and grooms, the Nicenes just chased them away. They were too poor to pay ransom, and they worshipped after the Grifon rite; which made them fellow-Christians whom no Grifon could bring himself to kill in cold blood. It was just the kind of battle a Grifon could be proud of: won by a dirty trick, with hardly any loss of life.