Lord Geoffrey's Fancy

by Alfred Duggan

"The Princess will see it as I do," she went on. "You must go to her without delay, and as soon as she hears your message she will summon the parliament."

  "Of course I shall hurry to her, my dear," I said quietly. "Those were my lord's commands, when he sent me climbing down a rope from the citadel of Satines. I will always obey the commands of my lord, unless he tells me to do something dishonourable. But I think you see more in this quite ordinary mission than really lies behind it"

  I don't know to this day which of us was right. In point of fact the Duke of Satines resigned his protectorate when the time came, without trying to oust Prince William from the land his father had acquired by trickery in the absence of the rightful heir; but perhaps if the Princess had not been informed until later of the suggested peace with the Emperor he might have hung on to it. A simple knight has only to be faithful to his lord and he can't go wrong; great men grapple with more complicated problems.

  As soon as I reached Andreville the Princess received me. An interpreter stood beside her, but she had picked up a good deal of French though she did not care to speak it on formal occasions. As I described our captivity and the terms suggested for our release she swore vividly in her own tongue (I can recognise Grifon swear-words), throwing out her arms and stamping her feet to emphasise her distress.

  The interpreter summarised her long reply in a few sentences which did not convey the emotion of the original.

  "Pakeologue in Mistra will be a running sore in the body of Lamorie. But unless we give him what he asks Duke Guy will take all. As to the oath of perpetual peace between Villehardouin and Palaeologue, my lady would point out that she is an Angeline, by birth a hereditary foe to the Despots of Nice. She cannot keep a lasting peace with Michael the usurping blinder of little children. That does not matter, since Michael himself will quickly break his oath. My lady adds that you have done well, and that she is grateful to you. As soon as may be the parliament will be summoned to meet at Nicies, and you will be welcome to attend it."

  Those last words were specially worth remembering. In some countries such an individual summons would have made me a peer of parliament, and my heirs after me for ever; a remarkable distinction for a landless household knight. But the Princess Anna was a foreigner, unacquainted with the customs of the west. Probably she did not understand what she was doing. I have never claimed a seat among the peers of Lamorie.

  It took ten days to send out the summonses and collect the barons in Nicies. During that time I was the social lion of Andreville, invited everywhere to tell the first eye-witness story of the disaster at Pelagonie and our subsequent captivity. But my importance vanished when Sir Geoffrey arrived in Nicies with the de la Roches, to propound the terms of peace recommended by our Prince.

  Every fee in Lamorie was represented in that unusually full parliament, but most of the knights of Lamorie lay in prison; therefore their ladies came to Nicies to represent them, and that famous gathering has been remembered ever since as the Parliament of Ladies. Except for Sir Geoffrey and myself, and the de la Roche knights, the only men present were two veterans who had been too old to ride to Pelagonie: Leonardo da Veroli the Chancellor of the principality, and the elderly and prudent Peter des Vaux.

  For the convenience of the ladies we did not meet on horseback. Benches had been placed in the customary meadow, and we came to the meeting on foot. We began with the usual Mass of the Holy Ghost, celebrated in the Prince's hunting pavilion since Nicies lacks a Latin church. Then we all went in procession to our places. Princess Anna, representing the suzerain, sat in a chair of state beneath a canopy; the ladies from the Baronies of the Conquest had a special bench apart; and the wives of the other vassals sat close-packed on forms arranged in a horseshoe. In the midst was a tribune like the ambo in a church, from which a speaker might address the whole assembly.

  First the Chancellor read the official Latin version of the proposed terms of peace. The Princess then gestured to Sir Geoffrey to come forward and explain the treaty in French. But Duke Guy bustled quickly to the tribunal and no one ventured to stop him, so that he had the first word.

  The Duke wore his coronet and a mantle of state; he carried in his hand a silver-gilt ducal sceptre, and was girt with a tremendous ducal sword. He was an elderly man, his belly overflowing his girdle; but he was the only great lord in Nicies that day and he made a great impression. The rows of ladies whispered together, rustling their linen coifs or their tall Grifon head-dresses.

  Yet Duke Guy's impatience was a tactical blunder. There was a genuine case to be made against the treaty; but a continuance of the war would be so much to his personal advantage that he was not the man to make it. I suppose he knew he was a good speaker, and could not trust any of his followers to argue so convincingly.

  He began skilfully enough by reminding his hearers, before they had time to think of it for themselves, that only a few years ago he had been in arms against Prince William. Now, he maintained, they were friends. He had sworn fealty, and the men of Satines had ridden loyally to Pelagonie. He was the loyal vassal and true friend of Prince William, but even more was he the friend of Lamorie. That was why he must recommend that the treaty be rejected.

  Once the Emperor had a foothold in Lamorie, so ran his main argument, the Grifons would drive us out. It was more than fifty years since our peasants had been harried by imperial tax-gatherers; they had forgotten those pitiless exactions, and remembered only that Michael Palaeologue worshipped by the same schismatic ritual as they. His agents would stir up the villagers, until even our Grifon sergeants might betray us. It were better that the Prince and all the chivalry of Lamorie should die in prison, he said, rather than that the last surviving fragment of Latin Romanieshould be lost to the west.

  But that, he went on, was to take a very tragic view of things. The Emperor was a Christian and a gallant warrior; he did not murder his prisoners. Besides, when all was said and done he was a Grifon, and Grifons love money. He would like to hold our castles, of course, and he was trying very hard to get hold of them. But if we stood firm and refused to part with them he would eventually agree to take a ransom for Prince William. Say No, he concluded, and begin to collect a tempting ransom. Then we shall keep our castles and, probably, get back our Prince.

  The ladies were impressed. The Duke had reasoned with them as though they were experienced statesmen, and their vanity was flattered. Besides, I have noticed that people who take no part in great affairs often consider politics an even dirtier business than in fact it is; they assume that in such matters dishonesty will always be the best policy. The Duke's advice was callous, ruthless, and dishonourable; like physic, it tasted so unpleasant that it must be good for you.

  Now it was the turn of Sir Geoffrey to argue in favour of the treaty. He took his stand on the tribunal, slender and handsome and cheerful. He wore a plain tunic and surcoat, in the colours of Bruyere but without blazon; his fair hair shone through the little silk net which kept it in place; he carried no sword, since he was a prisoner on parole. In spite of his more than thirty years, he must have seemed to many of the ladies like a boy pleading for the indulgence of his elders.

  He began without formality, in the tone of a knight chatting with the ladies in a rose-garden.

  "The Duke of Satines is a gentleman of honour, who has given us good advice without thought of his own personal advantage. We all know that, ladies, don't we ? I admire him because he is my father-in-law. You admire him because he is a gallant knight. What clinches it is that the holy and chivalrous King of France admires him, and has just shown it by rewarding him with a Dukedom as the fit penalty for treason."

  Everyone laughed except the de la Roches; and they fidgeted awkwardly, since they could not openly take offence.

  "The Duke has given us good advice, I say, the advice of a prudent knight to prudent ladies. That is why I tell you not to listen to him. Prudence is a virtue, as any clerk will tell you. But it is not a virtue to which the Franks of Romanie should asp
ire. If our fathers had been prudent they would have stayed at home in France. If Prince William had been prudent, and the gallant knights who were captured with him at Pelagonie, they would have closed with the Emperor's first offer, and taken sacks of gold to leave Romanie for ever. Ladies, we are not prudent, Franks are never prudent. That's why we are here, ruling in an alien land."

  "By God and His Sepulchre," he cried suddenly, in a voice of thrilling fervour, "we Franks have ridden from Portugal to Jerusalem, and we have conquered wherever we went. Was Godfrey prudent, who escaladed the wall of the Holy City? Or the blind old Duke of Venice who bade his squires lead him over the battlements of Constantinople? The holy King of France that now is, was he prudent when he leapt into the surf at Damietta, a King fighting on foot among the spearmen? Prudence—bah!"

  "Oh no," he went on in a conversational tone, "our Prince was honourably captured in fair fight, and we'll honourably buy him back from his captors. That's the civilised way of waging war. Remember, what the Prince has offered is his own to give. Rather than barter away the fees of his vassals he has endured two years of prison. All he asks is that you obey his commands, as vassals should, handing over the castles which he has ordered to be delivered to the Grifons. As soon as you do that you will get back your husbands, and the gallant unmarried knights who serve you in all courtesy. Fair and noble ladies do not look complete without them."

  "By the way," he continued, "the Duke has forgotten one clause in the treaty. There is to be perpetual peace between Lamorie and Constantinople, a peace ratified when our Prince stood godfather to a son of the Emperor. You ladies who have been bred in Romanie know how binding is that tie among the Grifons. One of two things must follow. Either the peace will endure, and then we shall be in no danger from Grifon castles on our border. Or the Grifons will treacherously break the peace, which is what I expect and all of you expect also. But if this happens, noble ladies, the knights whom you have so sensibly freed from captivity will chase away the cowardly Grifons. So whatever happens the remnant of Frankish Romanie will be safe."

  He bowed to the Princess and stepped down from the tribunal. As some of the ladies began to cheer, the Duke hurried to address them again, and they fell silent to hear him.

  Duke Guy was genuinely in earnest, genuinely thinking of the welfare of Romanie. "We must do what we can to free Prince William," he said, "but we cannot yield these castles, the keys of the country. We'll try money once more. Perhaps the first time we did not offer enough. Do you collect all you can in Lamorie, and I will double it from the resources of Satines. That ought to tempt even an Emperor. Or perhaps he will accept a substitute, a hostage for Prince William. I myself am willing to go, if he will take me. Offer any amount of money, or any lord or lady among the Franks as hostage. But if the Emperor is obstinate Prince William must die in prison for the sake of his people. At Pelagonie he risked his life for you. A man of his birth will submit to the sacrifice, if he must. That will be sad, but better than introducing enemy garrisons into the very entrails of Lamorie."

  That made an impression. The Duke's offer to stand hostage showed that he was not after personal advantage. The surrender of castles is always a grievous business, leaving a scar on the pride which is slow to heal; whereas every day great lords are killed in battle or die in captivity, and their heirs succeed without disturbance. Even I saw how much better would be our condition if Prince William had died at Pelagonie instead of being captured.

  Sir Geoffrey saw the unpopular corollary to that argument in time to sway opinion in his favour. "If the Prince remains in prison," he shouted, "so do all your husbands. Until he has his castles the Emperor will not release a single Frankish knight."

  That turned the scale. Ladies who would have endured with fortitude the loss of their ruler longed for their husbands back again. Not that Lamorie was an earthly paradise in which every married couple remained faithful until death should part them, but because even the freedom of grass-widowhood is no fun if there are no gentlemen about. Until the Emperor chose to release his prisoners Lamorie would remain a land of women and old men.

  By acclamation the Parliament of Ladies accepted all the terms proposed by the Emperor. There would be peace between Lamorie and Constantinople, and I would not be compelled in honour to return to prison. I have said nothing about my own feelings during this debate, but the fear of being compelled to keep the terms of my parole had been almost more than I could bear.

  Sir Geoffrey and I must still return, bringing the assent of Lamorie to the treaty of peace. We rode in comfort, travelling slowly because we had with us two ladies, Jeanne de Chaudron the Prince's niece, and Margaret de Neuifly, daughter of the Marshal of Lamorie, whom the Princess had nominated as hostages for the Prince's good faith. But they would live in luxury at the imperial court of Constantinople, not lie in a stern prison; they looked forward to this glimpse of a novel and civilised world.

  By the spring of 1262 the Prince and his knights were free, and the Emperor had his castles.

  10. JEANNE DE CATABAS

  Even after all the prisoners had returned Lamorie was not what it had been before the defeat of Pelagonie. We were no longer the conquerors, the new race of warriors from the west who were taking over the guardianship of eastern Christendom. We were a rearguard, holding what we could for so long as we could; not planning for the distant future, not expecting our grandsons to tend our graves. By all accounts that is how it has been in Syria for the last eighty years, since King Richard of England did his best and accepted defeat; now the feeling of mingled despair and desperation had spread to Frankish Romanie. You could smell it in the air, you could see it in the way the knights held themselves; they hoped to cling to their castles until old age should finish them, they did not look to a future which would bring wider lordship and greater wealth.

  Yet more good knights rode behind the anchored cross of Villehardouin than had ever ridden before. These recruits did not make us feel stronger, because the reason for their presence lowered our spirits. They were fugitives from the lost city of Constantinople, who had fought their way out with nothing but their mail and perhaps a bag of golden hyperpers. They had fought bravely against heavy odds, and they had been beaten; they expected to be beaten again, when the Grifons should pursue them to Lamorie. Refugees always depress their comrades; but refugees who stand on the borders of the enemy are the most depressing kind, always looking over their shoulders for a safer refuge.

  The Emperor Baldwin had not lingered in the remaining corner of his lost Empire. He had put into Porto Leone, and from their journeyed on to Italy, where gossip said he was trying to sell his crown to any lord who would pay cash for it—and finding no takers. I don't know why he did not return to his native Flanders; perhaps his kindred would not welcome him. His wanderings through Italy as a penniless pretender were a very bad advertisement for the Principality of Lamorie.

  The most important of the refugees who remained in Lamorie was the lord Ancelin de Toucy, a nobleman of very high birth, grandson of the French Princess who had become the Empress Agnes. He was an honoured guest of Prince William, for he was the brother of the Prince's first wife who had died young and childless. He drew an income from lands near Andreville; but he held them during pleasure, not in fee. He was no longer young, but it was said that he was still a very good knight in the field.

  With him came a great crowd of landless Franks and Grifons who had adhered to the Emperor Baldwin until there was no future for them in Constantinople ruled by Palaeologue. It was easy to find employment for the men in some mesnie; but the ladies, especially the young ladies, were difficult to fit in. They were too well bora to marry Italian burgesses; there was not room for all of them as waiting ladies in great households. If they hung about our castles with nothing to do idle knights would presently seduce them and the resultant bastards would bring shame on Lamorie. In the end most of these helpless young ladies travelled on to Italy, where they found harbourage in brothels or co
nvents according to inclination. In the meantime they were naturally eager to marry any landholding knights who would have them.

  Among these penniless young ladies was a hanger-on of the lord Ancelin who called herself Jeanne de Toucy, though since both her parents were bastards she had little right to any particular name. But her father had been a knight, properly married to her mother; and she had been brought up as a Frankish lady. She was of pure Frankish blood, and incidentally very beautiful. But her mother was long dead and her father had been killed in the fighting round the Palace of Blachernae. She had no dowry, and no surviving kin to take an interest in her. During the feasts and tournaments which celebrated the return of Prince William her beauty made a stir; but Melisande told me she was sorry for poor Jeanne, who must end as a courtesan unless she was wise enough to seek refuge in an Italian convent. "Our knights don't marry a pretty face, they look for a rich dowry," she said with a sigh. "But they will chase that girl, and she is too young to say No for ever. Mark my words, if she stays among us for a year she will leave with a baby, on her way to a brothel in Italy."

  Instead of which she made a very good marriage, and came to live in the castle of Carytena as an honourable wife.

  Sir John de Catabas met her at a tournament, where he also was a spectator because of his rheumatism. When he learned her name he recalled that years ago her father had rescued him during a skirmish against the Bulgarians. He was a good knight, scrupulous in repaying obligations. He decided that the best thing he could do for the orphaned daughter of his benefactor was to marry her.

  Sir John held land to the south of Carytena. But since the cession of the Prince's castles it was right on the borders of the Grifons, too exposed to raiders for a lady to live there; and his duties as constable kept him in attendance on Sir Geoffrey. When he was not on campaign he made his permanent home in Carytena, and it was there he intended to bring his bride. When he announced the impending wedding he gave a little talk to the household knights lounging in the hall, warning us how we must behave if we wished to keep his friendship.