For their dead horses the German mercenaries received handsome compensation; but they went back at once to Carinthia, angry with their employers. Their leader, however, was buried on the field. Twice Sir Geoffrey had struck him before the Turkish arrows spoiled the mellay, and a man who had been struck by Sir Geoffrey, however strong his mail, seldom recovered from it.
We were kept hanging about, thirsty under a hot sun, while servants set up on the battlefield the great silken pavilion of the Sebastocrator. Of course the Grifons wanted to glory in their victory; they don't often beat Franks. The Sebastocrator seated himself on a folding chair in the entry of his tent, his guard formed up around him displaying all the captured banners, and our leaders were brought forward to kneel before him. That was humiliating and unpleasant, but we deserved it for allowing ourselves to be beaten. We lesser prisoners were too far off to hear what was said; but it seemed to me, from the gestures of the guards, that what had begun as a formal ceremony of triumph had degenerated into an angry debate. The Grifon lords were all talking at once, and Prince William got up from his knees to shout back at them.
I began to feel frightened again. It sometimes happens that an army grant quarter on the field, and afterwards the victorious leader loses his temper and orders a massacre; every Christian in the east remembers what happened at Hattin, where Saladin first offered quarter and then murdered all the knights of the Temple and the Hospital because he was angry. It was comforting to remember that Grifons, though sly, are usually merciful; and that the Sebastocrator was not their ruler, but answerable to an Emperor in Nice. No Emperor would thank a commander who threw away the ransom of all Lamorie and Satines.
Presently the ceremony of triumph was over, and things returned to normal; which was most depressing. While we stood on the field, among the dead horses, we still thought of ourselves as warriors who happened to have been beaten; when the Grifons had untied us, given us the coarse drawers worn by peasants, and let us drink some of their nasty watered wine, we became captives, perhaps slaves, who must get into the habit of doing as we were told. We were herded into a roped enclosure, and told to rest before marching on the morrow. Our enemies no longer feared us; we were just another gang of prisoners.
I worried about the prospect of my own ransom. I held no land, and I had spent most of my savings on horses and gear for this campaign. Melisande would do her best for me, begging from her kin and her friends. In normal times rich men contribute willingly to the ransom of a landless knight whom they know; but now there would be many ransoms to be paid, until every Frankish household in Romanie would be feeling the pinch. It might be years before my wife could raise the money; or she might give up in despair, and leave me to die in slavery. Half the prisoners were in the same plight; by discussing our prospects together we increased our misery.
Then the great lords were brought into the enclosure, and Sir Geoffrey called for the mesnie of Escorta to gather round and hear what he had to say. He put such a gallant face on our troubles that immediately we felt more cheerful.
"Gentlemen," he began, "we are all in this together. The Grifons have spared our lives, and now I suppose it is only a question of money. Since some of us have more money than others I suggest we form a common fund. I shall tell my steward to raise all he can, and I want all of you to send the same message to whoever controls your possessions at home. The mesnie of Escorta will be ransomed as a unit. None of us shall go home until all are free. Do you agree with me, gentlemen?"
It was to be expected from the best knight in all Romanie. It was comforting to hear it, all the same.
When we had finished crowding round to kiss his hand in gratitude someone called out: "I suppose our lives are safe? What was all that argument before the tent of the Sebastocrator? Will they try to make us swear some oath that honour forbids?"
"We are safe for the present," my lord answered with a shrug. "No knight expects to live safe all his life. If that's what you want, my dear fellow, you must take off your spurs and get yourself tonsured. We are held for ransom, and that's honourable enough. It happens to the best of men. They may try to make us swear something, of course. They may ask us to do homage to the Nicene Emperor, or to repudiate our lawful superior the Pope." There were chuckles from his Ghibelline audience. "But if we stick together they can't get any promises out of us," he went on. "They would like us to swear never to bear arms against any Grifon ruler, but they like our ransoms even more. They won't give up all that lovely money, no matter what we swear or don't swear. So don't make any rash promises; they won't get you home any sooner. Take orders from me, and do as I do. Then we shall all be freed together, poorer and I hope wiser."
"All the same, someone annoyed Prince William. I saw him answering back. What was it all about? An oath never to attack the Grifons?" I inquired, anxious to know the worst.
"Oh no," my lord answered in a soothing voice, "though I suppose that will come sooner or later. It was just a slanging match. The Grifon reproached us for our presumptuous invasion of the lands of the mighty Emperor of the Romans; and Prince William, who speaks the language perfectly but learned it rather from stable-boys than from clerks, answered him as he deserved. He said that there is only one Emperor of the Romans, Baldwin who rules in Constantinople; though many little chieftains among the Grifons had decorated themselves with the title. But even if Michael Palaeologue was one of these little chieftains we had not invaded his land. We had come to Wallachia by invitation of its rightful lord, Michael Angelus, father-in-law of Prince William and our ally. It was true that the Despot had deserted us in the field, but such behaviour is common among Grifons. The Seba-stocrator, if he had any conscience or honour, should apologise for his unprovoked invasion of a Christian land, setting free without ransom the gallant warriors who had been captured while defending it from infidel Turks."
There were murmurs of appreciation, and a little laughter. We all felt much better.
"It was a jolly good speech," my lord continued, "just the kind to get under the skin of a stuffy Grifon. There were two really nasty points in it: the bit about a Christian land and the invasion of heathen Turks. All these Grifon lords depend on the goodwill of their schismatic bishops, who teach that schismatics should never wage war on one another; and all Grifons loathe and fear Turks. Some of the Grifon nobles were as angry as the Sebastocrator, but half of them had a job to keep a straight face. They admire oratory, you know, and uncle William was getting home with every thrust."
"It was dangerous to anger him so," objected some knight or other. "We are in the power of the Sebastocrator. He may kill us or spare us."
"Ah, that's just where you're wrong, my boy," Sir Geoffrey corrected him cheerfully. "You know how these Grifon lords tyrannise over their followers. There's none of the healthy freedom enjoyed by great vassals in the west. The Sebastocrator is Michael's brother, but that makes it all the more important that he should obey orders; otherwise he will lose his eyes, if not his head. We are the prisoners of Michael of Nice, and the Sebastocrator must produce us unharmed before his sovereign. What will happen then is another thing, of course. I for one won't show off my mastery of the Grifon tongue by answering him back until he splutters."
My lord was right, as might be expected of a great leader who could always see into the mind of the enemy. The Sebastocrator was very angry, but he dared not harm us. On the day of our capture we had nothing to eat, and to drink only a little sour wine; but supplies are always short just after a battle. Next morning we were given a coarse but sufficient breakfast, and then we set off on the long walk from Pelagonie to the Channel of St. George.
None of us were accustomed to walking. But we were fit and strong; and they lent us litters for the wounded, though we ourselves must carry them. Grifons arrange these things very well; they shine as quartermasters, though not as warriors. Every night we found food waiting for us, and straw to sleep on under some sort of roof. Though our guards were mounted they did not drive us too hard. A
few of our comrades died, but not more than you would expect in any army on the march. By the time we reached the coast our leg muscles had hardened and we had grown accustomed to our lot. Trudging through the prosperous towns by the shore I found myself staring about with interest, quite enjoying myself. Grifon towns are fascinating places; tiled roofs, paved streets, domed churches, until some little market with a couple of monasteries looks richer and grander than Paris.
When we reached the lord of Nice he would decide what was to be done with us, and that might not be so pleasant as long healthy walks through the countryside.
Every evening we talked about ransoms. Even knights with rich fees had very little ready money; Romanie has the reputation of a wealthy land, and that tempts everyone to live up to the limit of his purse. But a tallage for the ransom of the lord is one of the basic obligations recognised throughout Christendom; stewards and bailiffs could be trusted to sell timber and jewels wherever they might find them in Lamorie, without bothering too scrupulously over rights of ownership; every Latin bishop must contribute, for without knights to defend him he would quickly be chased back to Italy by the faithful of his diocese; with any luck our kin might be able to draw on various funds established throughout the west for the ransom of Crusaders taken prisoner by the infidel. If Palaeologue of Nice was willing to sell us our freedom we could find the money to buy it.
If he demanded oaths as well it might be more difficult. Some of our knights made the point that an oath taken under duress does not bind the conscience; but that argument has never appealed to me, for all that my famous Briwerr kinsman used it concerning King John's Great Charter. Every oath, except perhaps a baptismal vow, is taken under some kind of duress; you swear homage as the condition of enjoying your land peaceably; you swear truce so as to stop the fighting when you have been beaten. Sir Geoffrey agreed with me that since the Grifons had spared our lives we could not plead "the mortal danger which makes afraid even a brave man", as the lawyers define it. If we bought our freedom with an oath, we must pay up like honest men.
Until we reached the Channel of St. George I had not realised how little remained of the mighty Frankish Empire of Romanie. It is easy enough to speak of a city constantly menaced by enemies; the few castles which remain to us in Syria live always under threat of siege, as do many towns on the borders of Spain or Germany. The point is that Constantinople was completely hemmed in by the dominions of a single lord; all the Christian fringe of Asia obeyed Palaeologue, as did the European shore facing it. The great city was an island within the realm of Nice. To make matters worse, though we speak of Venice as ruling the eastern seas, the Channel of St. George and much of the Marmora were controlled by the Grifon fleet; the Venetian squadron in Constantinople was barely strong enough to hold the harbour and its approaches. Our guards ferried us across the Channel of St. George in perfect security, without bothering to keep watch for Venetian rescuers.
At that time Michael Palaeologue kept his court in the town of Lambasse, on the Asiatic shore; one of the finest Grifon cities I have seen, though empty and much decayed. All the idlers from miles round came to see the Frankish prisoners led through the streets, and as we walked to the palace we had to hold steady under a shower of rubbish and brickbats which was not much less trying than Turkish arrows. When we got there we did not see the Grifon ruler; we were paraded in a courtyard, only just aware that Grifon lords dressed in gorgeous silks were examining us through the iron grille of a window. It is very hard to keep your dignity when you are being stared at like a bear in a pit.
Then the great lords among us who had been summoned to the tent of the Sebastocrator were picked out for private speech with the lord Michael; it is typical of the clerkly Grifons that at Pelagonie they had made a list of our leaders, and checked it carefully at Lambasse to make sure it was still accurate. The rest of us continued to stand about in the courtyard.
Two hours later our leaders rejoined us; and Grifon soldiers, very angry, hustled us along to a large empty stone granary. They shut us all into one bare room; they then brought us a meagre dinner of musty salt meat and stale biscuit, with nothing to drink but water. They barred the doors and left us to talk things over among ourselves. The negotiations for our release had begun badly.
As usual, Sir Geoffrey gathered his followers round him to explain what had passed. His hair hung to his shoulders in a sweat-damp mop, and a bristly beard sprouted all over his cheekbones. But his canvas shirt and drawers were clean and neatly mended, he had washed his face in some of his scanty allowance of water, and he held himself erect. He was still a good knight, though an unlucky one.
"If only these outlandish Grifons knew something of the customs of civilisation," he began with an amused and exasperated smile. "Palaeologue meant well, I'm sure of it. Probably he thought he was being generous. But he offered us impossible terms, terms that we couldn't accept even if we had wanted to; and then lost his temper when we refused them. I'm afraid you boys are in for rather a rough time. I must tell you everything that happened. Then you will see that we couldn't do other than we did."
"At the beginning I had such a shock that I nearly fainted," he went on. "Palaeologue didn't ask for money. On the contrary, he opened the discussion by offering us great sacks of hyperpers. That's a fact, he had them ready beside him to show there was no deception. He begged Prince William to take this gold and share it out among his followers as he thought fit. There was only one condition. We must spend it in France. At first we couldn't understand what he was getting at. Gradually it became clear that he proposed to buy Lamorie and Satines and Negripont and the islands, and that when we had taken the price he offered we were to buy other fees in the west. Then he would be Emperor of all Romanie as it was before the conquest, but we would be no worse off. He added that he was sure we would be happier among our own kind of people, with peasants ploughing for us who spoke our own language and worshipped by the same rite.
"Yes, that's what he was after. I can see you are as surprised as we were. He thought he could buy fees and lordships and castles as though they were horses. I won't say that no castle has ever been sold. Of recent years in Italy some gates have been opened to the surprise of all beholders. But I can lay it down definitely that no castle has ever been sold before witnesses, the vendor walking away afterwards with a sack of gold on his shoulder.... Well, uncle William volunteered to answer, since he speaks the language better than any of us."
He paused, as we all murmured what we thought of this Grifon lord who tried to buy castles for cash down.
"Uncle William put it very clearly," my lord went on. "But Palaeologue remained unconvinced. You know how these Grifon realms are ruled. The Despot owns everything; his subjects have no rights against their lord. He may hang anyone, or blind anyone, or shut him up in a monastery, without a trial, merely at his own whim. I believe they have a written law somewhere, but it does not bind rulers. So when the Prince of Lamorie explained that he could not sell the castles of his vassals Palaeologue thought he was quibbling. He repeated his offer, and when it was refused again he lost his temper and withdrew it. The discussion ended with him stating new terms. We are to stay in prison—and it will be an uncomfortable prison—until every Frankish castle in Romanie has been handed over to the mercenaries of Nice. Then we shall be released, to make our own way back to France."
Turning down the corners of his mouth, he shrugged his shoulders.
"Now let's look on the bright side. We don't have to worry about collecting a ransom. These Grifons are so rich that they don't want our money. And we must remember that these terms are not the last word. Palaeologue was in a temper when we left him. Presently he will calm down, and then he will want to negotiate. You know Grifons. They can't bear a final break, a struggle to the death with no quarter given. They believe that every dispute should end in compromise. Before we are very much older Palaeologue will be looking for some dignified way to climb down. But until he recovers his temper we shall be in
for a hard time. Don't weaken. It will end."
As my lord turned away I called after him: "Would you, Sir Geoffrey, surrender Carytena to buy your freedom? Ought we to ask the Prince to do what the Grifons want of him?"
He threw back the answer casually over his shoulder. His mind was made up and he did not have to pick his words.
"Surrender Carytena? How could I? It isn't mine to give away. It belongs to the barony of Escorta, which came to me from my father. When I am gone some other baron will come after me. I suppose the castle could be yielded, if every free man in the barony were willing to see it go. But that's so unlikely that I shan't bother to ask them."
Palaeologue put pressure on us by making our imprisonment as rigorous as he could. Our food was bread and water, for the wounded there were neither salves nor bandages, and we were kept day and night in our prison so that our filth should accumulate round us. It was not in fact so bad as it sounds; because even the great Emperor of Nice could not eradicate the deep-seated Grifon instinct for compromise. The soldiers of Nice suspected that even if we were to die in captivity other Franks might be victorious one day. Besides, to give them their due, Grifons are kindly by nature. There was no alleviation of the bread and water, because wine and meat would have cost someone ready money. But our guards removed the filth from our prison, dropped straw and an occasional blanket in dark corners, and allowed us out in batches for fresh air and a little exercise.
A dozen or so of the wounded died; probably they would have died if they had been attended by all the surgeons in Romanie, for the Turkish arrow leaves an ugly gash. The rest of us stayed healthy and cheerful and defiant. Our chief worry was lack of news from home; but we took it for granted that the old men we had left in garrison, and our ladies, would somehow keep the Grifons out of Lamorie.
The winter took some of the heart out of us. Luckily in those parts it never gets very cold; but the change of seasons brought home to us that we were in for a long imprisonment. I was twenty-six years old, and five years married. Perhaps my children would be grown when next I saw them. If we had been shut up in separate cells probably some of us would have been tempted to take service with the Grifons; but we were still kept in that large deserted granary, where we might talk to one another and encourage the despairing.
Lord Geoffrey's Fancy Page 14
