Alwyn glanced out through the eastward window. ‘If the pilgrims march east now, they will be annihilated. The armies of Kilij-Arslan will easily overwhelm them.’
‘You say that, but we are determined, and we have many knights,’ Odo said angrily. ‘God will protect us on our journey, just as he will defend us in battle. It is God’s will that places us here! We go to free His city.’
‘God would prefer you to wait a little longer until your reinforcements have arrived,’ Alwyn said. ‘You would be better served sitting in a church and praying for His help than rushing off with inadequate men.’
‘If we were permitted to visit a church, we would do so. As to reinforcements, we have tens of thousands. More than enough.’
‘Enough for what?’ Alwyn said. ‘Enough to topple Kilij-Arslan? Perhaps so. Enough to capture the whole of his Sultanate of Rum? Yes, possibly. But then you still have hundreds of miles of dry, mountainous lands and deserts to cross before you reach the Holy City. Do you have any who have made the journey before among your company? No? Do you have trusted guides whom you can hire? Do you know which languages you will pass? Do you know where the markets are so you can buy food and drink? No? Then why are you not planning these details, rather than pestering the Vestes?’
‘You seem keen to prevent us.’
Alwyn stared down at his broken hand. ‘You think so? I have fought in battle, and I have experienced the joys of victory and the deep humiliation of defeat. Am I keen to slow you from making a rash decision? Yes. Would I stop you from winning back the Holy City? No. I would happily lay down my own life in that endeavour.’
‘You speak as though you know the lands.’
‘I have seen some of them.’
‘And you speak the languages.’
‘Only poorly,’ Alwyn said with a frown.
He felt John move, and there was a new atmosphere in the chamber. Alwyn glanced at him. ‘What are you planning?’
‘If you were to go with the pilgrims, that would indeed be a great relief to the Emperor. You could guide the armies.’
Yes, guide them to the enemies the Emperor wishes to see destroyed and protect those whom he seeks to protect, Alwyn thought to himself. He said, ‘I do not think I am fit enough to take on so onerous a journey. For this you will need a much younger man, and one who is proficient in the languages to be met on the way.’
The Vestes waved a hand. ‘There are few who have the skills of a warrior and who understand the terrain so well.’
Odo looked at him. ‘This is so?’
‘I have not travelled over there in many years,’ Alwyn snapped. ‘Besides, you know how I feel about Normans. Do you want me to—’
‘You will of course have to smother any feelings of anger. The Emperor would be displeased to learn that you had helped foster bad feeling between the Empire and the pilgrims who are to fight so valiantly in the defence of Christendom. He would be very grateful for your help. Whereas a refusal to do this little thing might result in the loss of the imperial favour.’
Alwyn could understand that. It was the threat: Do as I ask, or be cast from your little shop, from the city, and make your life somewhere else. And see your woman and slave sold into intolerable servitude. He had no choice.
‘Very well,’ Alwyn said. He knew he was defeated. Walking to a stool, he slumped into it. ‘What do you want me to do?’
CHAPTER 23
Civitot, Friday 12th September, 1096
Unknown to Alwyn or Odo, events were already overtaking the best intentions of the Vestes.
Even as Alwyn made his way to the office in the palace, over the water Sir Roger was giving voice to his rising frustration. The same warlike spirit was enveloping much of the pilgrim army.
‘We are held here like the lions in the Emperor’s bestiary,’ he fumed. ‘He has us caged nicely, doesn’t he? Stuck on this side of the water, subject to his whim. If we misbehave or upset him he can tell his traders to stop supplying us; if we don’t obey his orders, he can deny us our food. Yet what we want is only to go and obey God’s commands. Surely His will should trounce the ambition of some bloated, earthly potentate?’
Gilles said nothing.
‘I think we should go ahead. We ought to go and attack the unbelievers in their own lands, take their food and money. Our way lies before us, yet we sit here pacing up and down and waiting.’
‘Go ahead where?’
‘At least to the nearest villages and towns.’
Gilles was not on pilgrimage to hold back his master, but to defend him. He had the rest of Sir Roger’s men gathered together, and before the end of the morning, they were mounted and riding briskly to the east.
They rode only a matter of two or three leagues before they came across a large flock of sheep. Two shepherds shouted at them, but both were cut down by good Norman steel, their bodies left beside a small fire. They had been cooking unleavened bread, and Sir Roger tried a piece. It tasted good, he thought, as they returned to the camp, driving their plunder before them.
Civitot
Alwyn stepped ashore and stared about him with disgust.
The camp here was a cancer on the landscape. It stretched foul and noisome in all directions from the port, encompassing the little town. Flags and banners hung listless at pavilions to show where the men of note had their lodgings, but beyond was a mess of canvas or felted wool where others took their rest or hid from the sun. Few appeared to be warriors. Most were peasants and opportunists, to Alwyn’s embittered eye.
Odo strode on ahead, and Alwyn walked after him. ‘Who commands here?’
‘Peter the Hermit,’ Odo called back.
‘A hermit?’ Alwyn muttered to himself. He stared about him as they marched over the sands towards a large pavilion in the middle of the camp. There a man was conducting a service to several peasants while other religious men prostrated themselves before the cross nearby, piously emulating Christ’s pain with their arms outstretched. Alwyn found himself led to a tent nearby. In this he was introduced to Sir Walter de Boissy-Sans-Avoir.
‘I am glad to meet you,’ Sir Walter said. He eyed Alwyn’s hand. ‘You were a warrior?’
‘I was one of the Emperor’s Varangian Guard,’ Alwyn said. ‘You are the commander here? That man told me a hermit leads these people.’
‘Peter is our leader, but I am responsible for our fighting skills; he gives us our spiritual guidance, I the discipline,’ replied Sir Walter.
Alwyn turned and gazed over the encampment. ‘Have you many fighting men?’
Odo interrupted. ‘We have no need of such fellows. We have God on our side.’
‘Even so, training the men in how to hold a sword could be useful,’ Alwyn said.
‘Do you mean to blaspheme?’ Odo said.
Alwyn nodded, and then whipped out his sword. Before Odo could place his hand on his hilt, Alwyn’s blade was resting on his throat and he moved closer, speaking through his clenched jaw. ‘I could have killed you then. I could kill you now. I had two good reasons to do so: one, because I will not have any snot-nosed runt like you accusing me of blasphemy when I am trying to help God’s cause here; two, because it would demonstrate that having skills with weapons can only serve to aid God in the struggles to come. You are fortunate indeed that I have another reason to leave you alive.’
‘What is that?’ Sir Walter enquired. He had not moved, but watched Alwyn with an approving smile on his face.
‘I have been ordered to help you all by my Emperor. I would not seek to fail him because that would have consequences for people who rely on me. But if this prickle decides he can accuse me of blasphemy, I may just decide the consequences are worth it!’
Sultanate of Rum, Tuesday 16th September
In the next days Sir Roger and Gilles rode further and further afield, seeking ever more livestock and grain for the pilgrims. It was easy enough, for none of the flocks were guarded, and more knights and their men took to this lucrative trade, riding far and
wide and selling their winnings to other pilgrims on their return. Sir Roger was delighted with his ventures, and persuaded Gilles and his men to look to the lands further away, where they found that all the lands were empty of men-at-arms or even castles to protect the lands.
It was on the fourth day, when they returned to the camp, that Sir Walter de Boissy-Sans-Avoir met them.
Sir Roger dropped from his horse and bowed slightly to the older man. ‘Sir Walter.’
‘You have been given success,’ Sir Walter said, eyeing the flocks as Gilles and the others drove them towards the slaughtermen. A series of fenced paddocks had been erected, in which the animals could be contained until the butchers could come to them. Sir Roger looked on as the animals were driven in and the bars pulled across to keep them contained. ‘How far did you travel for these?’
‘Some five leagues, I suppose,’ Sir Roger said. ‘And there was no fortification in all that way. I begin to wonder if the stories of the dangers posed by heathens here have not been entirely blown up out of all proportion.’
‘The people here are growing more restless as they see you riding away each day,’ Sir Walter said.
‘Then let us all ride together! This is a ridiculous situation. We have all travelled hundreds and hundreds of miles to go to Jerusalem, but here we sit . . .’
‘Yes, you have said it all before. And now it appears that there are more malcontents who seek to ride away with you.’
‘That is good!’
‘No! We need to keep them here. The Emperor has said, we should wait until the other pilgrims arrive!’
‘We could wait for another three months before they’re all here! I want glory and honour, not a rest in the sun by the sea!’ Sir Roger said. ‘I will ride to the next town tomorrow, and any who wish to join me will be welcome to ride at my side.’
‘You will ride without my approval,’ Sir Walter said, and turned on his heel.
‘So be it!’
Alwyn watched as the two broke apart, leaning against a pavilion’s pole and listening impassively.
The knight’s face spoke volumes. Seeing Alwyn, he stared hard at him. ‘What more would you have had me say?’
‘Nothing. He wants to put his life into jeopardy, but that is no reason for the rest of the army to do the same.’
Sir Walter turned and surveyed the camp. When they had arrived he had immediately taken this small promontory as the location for his pavilion because it gave him a good view over the camp, while also allowing all the pilgrims to see his flag in the wind. ‘You know, I took this place here because I thought it was important that all the folk should be able to see that I was with them. Now they think me weak and cowardly for remaining instead of riding out with the young rascals like Sir Roger.’
‘He is a danger. Let him go.’
‘Danger? How?’
‘You and I have fought in our battles, Sir Walter. We both know that it takes more than courage and determination to win. If a captain has a small force that is battle-hardened, he will win against far greater odds. It is a simple fact that a man who has been trained will fight better than one who has been brought fresh from the fields. We have an army that is large, but it isn’t disciplined or effective, whereas Kilij-Arslan has men better drilled and equipped. But your peasants down there think that they are a match for him because they have courage and God on their side.’
‘You doubt the righteousness of our cause?’
‘I make no comment on any matter other than the quality of the men down there,’ Alwyn said. ‘I think each of them has confidence in God, each has the bravery to match any man, but they need training. They need discipline.’
‘They have little enough of either.’
‘No. Because they think that God will give them the strength to endure any battle. It is His arm they think will fight, not their own. But you and I know that it is the men and their abilities and fortitude that will win through. Kilij-Arslan has many men with him. He will find Sir Roger sooner or later, and when he does, the men down there will discover that they need to learn much for their own safety.’
‘If we wait until then, we give the initiative to the Saracens.’
‘Yes. But when the men here learn how the Saracens can defeat them, they will become more amenable to suggestions from others. Such as you.’
‘Perhaps Sir Roger will meet Kilij-Arslan and defeat him?’
Alwyn smiled thinly. ‘That would be a miracle indeed. No. Kilij-Arslan will meet that ignorant pup and destroy him. So be it.’
Civitot, Wednesday 17th September
Odo woke Fulk in the early pre-dawn coolness. ‘I am going, Fulk. Will you come with me?’
‘Eh?’ Fulk was slow to wake. He rubbed his head and stared at Odo. ‘Going where?’
‘Many of us are disappointed with the slowness of the march. We will go and begin the reconquest of the Holy Land today. There are many of all nationalities who will come with us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Fulk was suddenly wide awake. ‘All the men have said that it would be folly to ride to the east without the rest of the pilgrims. They will only be a little while, and then we can all march together.’
‘These people of Constantinople!’ Odo said. ‘They want us to wait, sit on our arses and give the Saracens as much time as they need to prepare. We are here, we should strike while we can! Come with me, Fulk! I’m going to go with the Normans. Sir Roger and his companions have asked me to join them. Will you too?’
‘I cannot! Not yet! Peter the Hermit is in Constantinople right now, petitioning for more resources so that we can remain here safely – at least wait until he is returned.’
‘It is not because of the woman, then?’
‘What?’ Fulk said.
‘The pretty widow. You’ve been making moon-eyes at her every time you see her.’
‘Not like you, then!’
It was Odo’s turn to be surprised. ‘What?’
‘I’ve seen you with Jeanne.’
He flushed. ‘She is a sweet and kindly woman.’
Fulk grinned, to Odo’s increased discomfort. ‘Stay here, brother. Don’t go riding off into danger like this. Should I ask Jeanne to plead with you?’
‘No!’
His emphatic response made Fulk grin irritatingly, as only a brother could. Odo could not be persuaded to stay, and a little later the two stood with the raiding party as the horses puffed and blew, stamping their feet to be off. Odo and the other men mounted in a jingle of chainmail. Odo bent down, and Fulk and he clasped hands.
‘Go with God,’ Fulk said, and buried his face in his brother’s thigh. ‘I would not lose you, Odo.’
‘And Godspeed you too,’ Odo responded. ‘I will look for you when I reach Jerusalem, brother.’
Fulk playfully punched his leg. ‘Sir Walter will lead me there faster than you!’
‘In a pig’s eye! Go safely in God’s care, brother.’
Odo smiled down at Fulk. Then, as the knight and his party blew horns and began to ride off in a long column, Odo joined the rear, one of a column of men-at-arms from the Holy Roman Empire, and men of Lombardy, Turin and Milan. He was certain that this was the right thing to do. He had tried to reconcile the long wait at the coast with his desire to reconquer the Holy Land, but he could not. Sir Roger and the others were, like him, weary of the prevarications and arguments of the French. It was time for action; it was time to fight! His heart swelled to be part of this force. They would bring God’s justice to this land. On the way from the camp, he glanced towards Sir Walter’s pavilion. There he saw the knight standing and, a little distance from him, Alwyn. They looked stern and grim. Odo looked away.
Yet, as Odo trotted off, he dared not look back at his brother. Fulk was his last tie to the world they had left, and he felt a superstitious fear that, if he were to look back now, he would never see Fulk again.
Civitot
Sybille saw them while walking to fetch water.
The blo
nd with the close-set eyes, the dark man at his side, were walking through the crowds; the same two men who had tried to rape her. Even as she saw them, the fair-haired man caught her eye. Immediately he nudged his companion, and the two stared at her. She began to move more quickly, feeling a tightness in her breast that left her feeling breathless. There were people all about her here, but that left her with no sense of security. She had a feeling of certainty that the two wanted to continue where they had left off.
With relief she saw Roul and hurried to him. ‘Help me!’
‘What?’
He was with an older man, who stood leaning on an old staff. ‘What is it, maid?’
Roul nodded. ‘This man is a friend of mine. His name is Gidie, and he lived on the Yonne. You can speak in front of him.’
‘Two men want to rape me,’ Sybille gasped. ‘They tried to before, just after we left Philippopolis, and they’re following me now!’
Gidie glanced over her shoulder and saw two men edging through the main encampment towards them. ‘I’ve seen their like before often enough,’ he said. ‘Thieving scrotes. You’ll be safe, madame. Stay with us.’
‘But they—’
‘Roul, you take her back to the camp with the girls,’ Gidie said. ‘I won’t be long.’
Sybille shook her head. ‘You mustn’t try to take them on alone, Master Gidie! These men are violent, and they will fight.’
‘Don’t you worry about me,’ Gidie said with a smile. He liked the woman. She looked so desperate, and yet she was still keen to protect him from any innate rashness. He watched her walk away with Roul, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at him, until her figure and that of Roul were almost hidden between the wagons and carts that were dotted about between the tents of the encampment. Then he turned and, leaning heavily on his staff, hobbled forward.
The two men paid him no heed. The fair one glanced at him, but an old pilgrim with a limp was of little interest. He was seeking better prey. Gidie turned as soon as they were past him, and straightened. He hefted his staff and walked after them.
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