Lord Geoffrey's Fancy

by Alfred Duggan

  Prince William behaved very well. He never sought better treatment in virtue of his rank, and set the example that every fit man should take a turn in looking after the sick. Our guards were impressed by his solicitude for his men, which they ascribed to heroic Christian charity; Grifons never understand that among Franks all knights are at bottom equal, for they themselves make a very great distinction between the important and the less important. From time to time the Prince reminded us that by enduring our captivity without seeking mercy we were helping in the defence of Lamorie; so long as we stuck it out the Grifons would not get our castles. In prison we were holding their walls as truly as if we had been standing on the battlements.

  But the man who did most to keep us to our duty was Sir Geoffrey. He was always cheerful, and it was amazing to see how neat and clean he kept himself in that cold bare prison. He spent the whole day going from group to group among the captives, getting us to tell stories in turn, to sing, or even to compose new songs. Best of all, he knew how to get on the right side of our Grifon guards. He could speak their language perfectly, including all the soldiers' words that an interpreter never explains to you. He knew their manners and customs, and what they thought about the duty of a warrior. He made them see that we were not just stubborn barbarians, refusing to make peace with the glorious culture of Nice; we were family men and Christians, suffering hardship so that our wives and children should keep the property that was rightly theirs. He could make jokes too, especially rather seditious jokes about the absurd claim of Michael Palaeologue, tyrant of the petty Despotate of Nice, to be considered Emperor of all the Romans. The guards talked to him in return, and from their chatter we learned something of what was passing in the outer world.

  It was saddening to know that Michael Angelus, who had deserted us on the battlefield, still flourished like a green bay tree. But we were cheered, all the same, to learn that he had gathered his forces afresh and driven the Nicenes from his land. No enemy had dared to invade Lamorie. The great victory of Pelagonie had not increased the dominions of Nice by a single acre of land.

  All the same, when my twenty-seventh birthday came round in the summer of 1260 Iimpug was feeling very low and miserable. During this summer Palaeologue renewed his negotiations with our leaders. He could not be convinced that we were unable to yield the castles held by our wives and comrades in the name of Prince William; more than once he offered us great wealth if only we would return to the west and leave him the whole Empire of Romanie. He let us know that the Genoese were now backing him, so that Baldwin in Constantinople had no western allies save our old enemies the Venetians. Therefore we could expect no help from the west. But Prince William never weakened.

  It was some consolation that Palaeologue did not despise us. The Grifons saw us as honourable but unlucky warriors, who must be bullied until we gave in; they did not treat us as malefactors. For these conferences with the Emperor our leaders were allowed to wash and comb their hair, and they were seated at a table to talk with him. Certain conferences lasted for many hours; and since neither side gave ground the participants must have passed the time in chatting about other matters.

  At the beginning of autumn Sir Geoffrey came back from a conference very cheerful, and sought me out where I squatted loafing against the wall of our prison. By this time I was so bored and unhappy that I spent most of the day trying to sleep; for the night would be a time of misery whether I slept through it or not.

  "Cousin William," he said in a low voice, "think over what I say to you, and give me your answer tomorrow. I can offer you comfort, but on conditions that you may think impugn your honour. I myself don't think it dishonourable. The thing is, the Emperor has taken a fancy to me. He has invited me to live at his court, provided I give my oath not to escape. I have given that oath. But I asked to have a Frankish attendant, what they call here a cup-bearer, something between a servant and a squire. That also has been granted. So for one prisoner I can get decent food and limited freedom and perhaps a horse to ride in the hunt. I give you the first refusal because you are perhaps my kinsman and you seem to be taking imprisonment very hardly. Will you do it? You will have to pass as a servant. But I don't see anything wrong in assuming a disguise in the presence of our enemies."

  I answered at once, without reflexion. "If the best knight in all Romanie can live at the Emperor's court as a prisoner on parole it cannot be dishonourable. I will be your servant, my lord, and gladly. I have taken oath to serve you in the field, and our war against Nice is not yet finished. There's only one thing that worries me. Will it look as if we are deserting our comrades in affliction?"

  "I have taken great care not to desert them. Every night we shall sleep here, and go out again in the morning. If you can steal anything useful, remember to bring it back. It's a pity we have no money. In every court all the leavings from the table are earmarked as someone's perquisite. But we may be able to get hold of a little wine and meat. The real trouble is, will you mind waiting on me as a servant?"

  "On you, my lord? No."

  Perhaps I was too willing. Other Briwerrs may blame me for having lowered the dignity of our house. But there was very little I would not have done to get out of that gloomy granary.

  It was a queer sort of life, standing behind my lord's seat at meals, and riding behind him when the court hunted. I had to remember that in public he could not treat me as an equal, for the Grifons might have been angry if they had known he had smuggled a knight out of the dungeon. In the west the most difficult part would have been mingling with the other servants. But here all my colleagues were Grifons, and I could not talk easily with them; though after six years in Romanie I had picked up a few oaths and names of things to eat. My lord, who was as fluent in Grifon as in French, chatted gaily with the courtiers, and even with Palaeologue when he was commanded to ride beside him.

  Palaeologue was interested in the western way of life, though like other Grifons he could not understand it. He was himself a brave warrior and a successful ruler, but he could not grasp that a gentleman who owes allegiance to a superior is not in all things the slave of that superior. Again and again my lord had to describe his trial before his peers at Nicies, and the mild penalty which had purged his treason. Among Grifons treason is the unforgivable sin, though they are always committing it; an unsuccessful traitor loses at least his eyes, and usually his life. That does not make them faithful to their lords. Palaeologue himself had attained power by blinding the child of his dead lord, and when there were proper Emperors in the old days the throne was always passing from one dynasty to another.

  The courtiers, as far as I could judge them through the fog of a strange language, were intelligent and brave and elegant. But not one of them would have stood by his lord in adversity. They had come to court to get power and place from the ruler of their land for the time being. If they clung too long to a losing faction they would find themselves blind monks; and their competitors, far from admiring their constancy, would despise them for having been too stupid to change sides in time. No Frank could like these faithless scoundrels, though when things were going well with them they were gay and courteous and interested in the arts.

  Sir Geoffrey held his own among them. I myself would not have been so friendly to Prince William's captors as he was. But, as he said to me, the code of chivalry does not cover all cases, and a good knight must sometimes improvise his own rules of conduct.

  He rode gallantly in the hunt, and quickly picked up an amusing game they play on horseback; a very good game called polo, as exciting as a tournament without the risk of broken bones. All the time he was hammering home the truth that Prince William could not yield up the fees and castles of his vassals without their consent, and doing what he could to lighten the captivity of his comrades; so his favour with the enemy did us good and was in no way blameworthy. But his main interest was the pursuit of various court ladies. I might easily have found out from the other servants, even through the barrier of lan
guage, whether he had caught any of them. I chose not to do so. One day I hoped to be back in Carytena, and I did not want any awkwardness when I was telling the lady Isabel our adventures. Sir Geoffrey might tell her if he wished; he could talk himself out of anything.

  In June 1261 I was twenty-eight years old, and we had been nearly two years in captivity. For me life was not too hard, and in a sense we had all grown used to it; but release seemed no nearer.

  One evening towards the end of July we were all as usual sleeping in our prison. By this time there were blankets and straw, and we had made friends with some of our guards; I cannot say that even my comrades who never left the prison were enduring great hardship. Suddenly we were roused by a great outcry in the town, shouts and cheers and the chant of monks walking in procession. Presently a group of guards unbarred our door. They were half-drunk already and rapidly getting drunker; and they could not bear that we should be ignorant of the great news. They shouted that Constantinople had fallen to Palaeologue, and actually gave us a skin of wine with which to celebrate the disaster. We drank it, of course; in that prison wine was too rare to be wasted.

  Next day Palaeologue set off to make his state entry into his new capital. He took with him his most valued trophy, his Frankish prisoners. We were all mounted for the journey; and in general, since the Grifons were feeling very happy, the conditions of our captivity improved. On the way my lord found out from the courtiers exactly how the last remnant of our Empire had been lost.

  By an absurd chain of accidents the city had been taken with its impregnable defences still intact. A small force of Nicene troops, less than a thousand mercenary light horse, were crossing from Asia into Thrace. To vex the Emperor Baldwin Palaeologue ordered them to ride close by the city. A Grifon from the suburbs sought out their commander, with news that the Venetian galleys had sailed from the harbour, taking most of the Frankish garrison for a raid on some island in the Black Sea. Furthermore, this man knew of an unguarded tunnel under the walls, an ancient sewer big enough for a man to crawl through.

  The Grifon commander took a chance. He sent a few men through the tunnel, who got in safely and captured a gate from within. At sunrise the Emperor Baldwin awoke to find the streets full of Grifon soldiers and citizens, all marching on his palace. He sent orders to the Venetians to hurry back, and with his few courtiers held the palace until they returned. But when the Venetians reached harbour they flinched from an assault that would entail fighting through the populous city to the palace of Blachernae three miles from the anchorage. Baldwin and his Flemings were bolder than the Italian sailors; they cut their way down to the water-front and embarked. Then the Venetian fleet sailed for the Channel of St. George, leaving Constantinople in the hands of the schismatic Grifons.

  On the 4th of August 1261 Michael Palaeologue, the adventurer who had blinded his child-lord to steal the throne, rode in triumph through his great city as the new Emperor of all the Romans. I rode in his train, with the other Frankish prisoners. It was a painful experience, for the crowd pelted us with rubbish until we looked very silly. But at least I was granted an opportunity to see the greatest city in the world in all its glory. It is indeed a very fine place, though not improved by two sacks and numerous conflagrations within the last sixty years.

  The Emperor Michael rode the whole length of the city, from the Golden Gate in the south-west to the cathedral, which his priests were busily reconsecrating for schismatic worship. In the great polo ground before the cathedral the procession dispersed, and we Franks were led off to a new prison by the harbour. Just as we were dismounting, while a throng of abusive citizens pressed round us, a Grifon of the lowest class pushed up to slap my face; as he did so he whispered: "William Briwerr?"

  A Frank who makes his home in Romanie must have his wits about him all the time. I shook my head, to indicate Yes after the eastern fashion, and pushed with my open hand as though to get rid of him. He slipped a paper into my palm, and vanished in the crowd.

  That evening I examined the paper. As I had expected, it was a letter from my dear Melisande.

  "I cannot send money; this will pass through too many hands. But my family has friends in every city of Romanie, and I can at least tell you the news. You have another fine son, named William. Your household is well and safe. The Franks hold their castles. But Prince William must come home soon, for Lamorie is in danger from a domestic foe. Guy de la Roche is returned from France, Duke of Satines by grant from King Louis. He has been chosen protector of the Franks, in the absence of our natural defenders. He rules well, and the few remaining vassals like him. The Princess Anna asks her lord to recall how the first Villehar-douin acquired the Principality. Tell him to make any terms, even to the half of his land; or he will lose the whole of it. Do not try to answer this letter. The messenger would cheat you, or would himself be caught and hanged. Only a born Roman can intrigue with Romans. Written by your loving wife."

  You will note that neither my name nor Melisande's appear in the letter. If the Emperor's agents had intercepted it they would have known that someone was trying to warn the Prince, but no harm would have come to me.

  As soon as I had the chance I showed the letter to my lord, and then tore it into small pieces which we buried in the latrine. It was not a thing to keep lying about. My lord went to warn Prince William.

  For ten days or so Sir Geoffrey and I continued within the city our queer double life, feasting at court by day and returning at nightfall to our dungeon. In the great city I saw the markets, already filled with Genoese wares instead of Venetian, the palaces, and especially the remarkable hot baths. We agreed that it would be tactless for Franks to go near the walls, and we would not enter the schismatic churches; so I have never seen the most famous sights of Constantinople. Also it was unsafe for us to go anywhere without Grifon courtiers to guard us, since the citizens hate all westerners with blood-thirsty fanaticism; they were so unpleasant that I took pleasure in looking at the acres of ruin left by the Frankish sack sixty years before. Constantinople is an evil city, and one day it will come to a bad end. But it is very beautiful; if it were ruled by a decent Frankish dynasty it might yet flourish.

  Then Sir Geoffrey arranged another peace conference. The Emperor Michael was in a very good mood, having achieved the greatest of his ambitions; and Prince William had been frightened by my news from Lamorie. It was worth trying once again to find acceptable terms, in spite of the many previous failures. I like to suppose that my lord hit on the compromise which solved the problem, but more likely it was some Grifon clerk; they live by compromise.

  After the conference had sat for most of the day all prisoners were assembled in the evening to hear a report from Prince William. We were very excited to know that at last things were moving, but also determined not to give in weakly, after we had stood out for our honour during more than two years.

  "Gentlemen," said the Prince, as we squatted at his feet, "the Emperor will give us our freedom, without ransom, in return for certain castles. He is asking very much less than he demanded just after the battle two years ago, and in my opinion he is asking for what is mine to give him. But before we go any further I want to be sure you agree with me. We are to hand over to the Emperor's soldiers the castle of Mistra, which I built at my own cost, the town of Malvoisie, which I captured fifteen years ago, and the castle of La Grande Maigne, built by my father. When these are in his hands the Emperor will release us. In addition he will recognise our lordship over the remainder of Lamorie and the Frankish fees of Satines and the islands; and he will swear a perpetual peace with us. Shall I accept these terms?"

  We all shouted encouragement. Prince William had been remarkably generous, more generous than one would expect from an artful, litigious Villehardouin. The castles were indeed his to surrender, built by himself or his father; and the only free feudatories who would be compelled to transfer their allegiance were the Grifon archons of Malvoisie, who would not suffer by becoming the subjects of a Grifon Em
peror. No one would be the poorer save the Prince himself.

  We were so excited that the Prince had to calm our enthusiasm.

  "We don't get out of here tomorrow, you know, or even as soon as the treaty is sealed," he called to us. "There will be solemn ceremonies of ratification; and then someone must go to Lamorie, summon a parliament, and get the castles handed over. Not until his garrisons hold them will the Emperor release us; and I can't say I blame his caution."

  "What happens if your vassals in Lamorie refuse to carry out your orders ?" someone shouted.

  "Then the whole thing is called off and we stay here," the Prince answered shortly. "For more than two years I have been explaining to the Emperor the limits of a lord's power over his free vassals, and in the end he has learned his lesson. My sealed warrant to my castellans will not be enough. He must have the actual castles before he lets us go."

  "Then who carries your warrant?" came another question.

  "Sir Geoffrey de Bruyere, of course," the Prince answered without hesitation. "He can persuade the parliament, if they are unwilling to do as I command. And he will come back honourably to prison if he fails, so that there will be no reprisals against those who stay behind. It's a task for a good knight. I shall send the best knight in all Romanie."

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. My lord stood just behind me.

  "You come with me, cousin William," he said in an undertone. "But first you must swear a great oath to return if our mission fails. If you prefer to stay rather than swear I shall think none the worse of you. Coming back will be very hard after riding as free men through Frankish land. Don't try it if it will be too hard for you. Remember, it must never be said that a knight of Escorta gave his promise and failed to keep it."