However it was, the young shepherd set out for Saint Denys and preached while he walked, exhorting other children. He likened himself to Moses, subserving a new crusade, pausing at castles and villages. Thus he gathered children out of their homes and led them off and it is said no lock or bolt could prevent them. Neither pleas nor threats dissuaded them. Chanting in the common tongue, singing, joyously they marched at his heels and listened with delight to his every word.
To Saint Denys, therefore, he walked to see the king. And at the sepulcher of martyred Dionysius, garbed as though he were yet in the field near Cloyes, crook in hand, this child apostle spoke of suffering in Jerusalem, Christians enslaved. Many who listened thought they could hear groans, cries for help, clanking chains. He pointed to the shrine of Dionysius thronged with pilgrims and compared it to the tomb of Jesus vilified by Saracens. He likened Jesus to a banished king, Jerusalem to a captive queen. He spoke of a dream in which the sea rolled apart for him and for those who followed him. He displayed the letter to King Philip Augustus. He said that one day he was unable to find his sheep because they had left the pasture, but discovered them in a field of grain. He began beating them to drive them out, at which they dropped on their knees to beg forgiveness, and by this sign he knew he was appointed to liberate the Holy City. Documents from those days testify that outside the sepulcher of Dionysius he performed miracles.
If this boy Stephen gained audience with the king has been debated. But it is known that on account of the children Philip Augustus consulted his advisors and learned men at the University of Paris, after which he ordered the children to disperse. They refused. Instead, like thistle on the breeze they gathered at Vendôme, high and low, descending from castles on the mountain, emerging from wretched mud hovels, singing while they marched, holding wax tapers, waving perfumed censers, bringing copies of the red silk Oriflamme with gold flames scattered. And if asked how they would accomplish what grown men could not, they replied that they were equal to the will of God and whatever He might wish for them, that would they humbly and gladly accept.
News of these crusading children got to Germany and Lotharingia quick as a storm. The Benedictine William at his monastery near Guines wrote of it. The monk Reiner at Liège wrote of it. And in Cologne the monk Godfrey wrote that a child called Nicholas began to preach outside the Byzantine cathedral where bones of the Magi rest in a golden casket. They say Archbishop Raynuldus brought back these inestimable relics from the sack of Milan. Whatever the fact, thousands came to worship. Nicholas preached to all who approached, holding up a metal cross in the form of Tau. But he did not preach the slaughter of Muslims, saying the holy word of God would illuminate their lives, would convert them, would cause them to abhor the wicked faith of Mahomet and worship Jesus.
They set forth about the time of Pentecost, according to the annal of Cologne, and left behind their plows and carts, abandoned the animals they pastured. Many took up pilgrim costume, wide-brimmed hat, palmer’s staff, gray coat and a cross sewn to the breast. By repute they numbered twenty thousand. Some leapt or danced like storks prepared to migrate. Thus wrapped in mighty delusion they walked from Cologne to Basle, to Geneva, traversed the Alps near Mount Cenis, by which time half were lost, murdered, starved, frozen, drowned in raging mountain streams, devoured by famished wolves.
In August they reached the gates of Genoa, but three thousand more had disappeared. Nicholas petitioned the Senate, begging hospitality for one night, explaining that the sea would divide next morning as it divided for Moses and they would march on to Jerusalem. His petition was granted. But at dawn the waves broke without remission. Therefore the children marched to Pisa, thinking they had missed their appointment. How many perished on this journey is not known. The Senones chronicle states that two shiploads of children sailed from Pisa to the Holy Land. What became of them is not recorded. Others wandered uncertainly toward Arezzo, Firenze, Perugia. It may be that a few walked to Rome where they met the pontiff. Without doubt some reached the port of Brindisi where a Norwegian called Friso sold the boys into slavery, the girls into brothels. Illi de Brundusio virgines stuprantur. Et in arcum pessimum passim venumdantur.
Concerning Nicholas, one document from those days asserts that he came at length to the Holy Land where he fought bravely at Acre, later at Damietta, returning unharmed. Perhaps. But when the citizens of Cologne learned what happened to their children they hanged his father.
As for Stephen, thirty thousand innocents gathered beneath his standard, a woolen cross affixed to the right shoulder of each. When they set out they were accompanied by animals and birds, overhead a cloud of butterflies, which are bearers of the soul. They leapt and shouted as did the German children, and sang for joy. O Jerusalem! O Jerusalem! Our feet shall stand within thy walls!
Through the fruitful heart of France they marched south to Lyons, beside the Rhône to Valence, Avignon, Marseille. Stephen traveled at his leisure in a chariot fitted with carpets and a decorated canopy protecting him from the August sun. Twelve youths from noble families surrounded him, forming the honor guard, each handsomely mounted, each holding a lance. It is said that while Stephen was a child in years, ten or twelve, he was adept at vice, lecherous, quick to benefit from his role as saint and prophet. If he stood up to address the multitude thousands pressed forward. On such occasions many were trampled or suffocated. Those nearest him would reach out to pluck a thread from his coat, a splinter from the cart, a hair from the mane of the horse that drew him, much as it was with Peter the hermit.
At Marseille they found the sea unyielding. Waves curled and broke, adamant. Now two agents of Satan slipped out of the darkness. William Porcus. Hugo Ferreus. Concerning the first, some have called him a merchant of Marseille while others think he was a Genoese sea captain of high repute. Yet again, he is called William de Posquères who fought at the siege of Acre with Guy de Lusignan. As to Hugo Ferreus, most think him viguier of Marseille, which is to say the viscount’s representative and traded in the Holy Land. No matter. Without cost, for love of God, absque pretio, causa Dei, so these knaves declared, would they charter what vessels were required, enabling a fervent army of Christ to reach Jerusalem. Seven vessels these traffickers obtained. What sort is not known. Gulafres. Dromonds. Buzas.
For eighteen years Europe did not learn the fate of these children, not until a priest who had accompanied them returned. Of all who embarked at Marseille he alone came back to say what happened. West of Sardinia rises a deserted islet, Accipitrum, referring to falcons that nest among the cliffs. Three days out from Marseille a furious storm drove two vessels against this rocky islet. All aboard were lost. The remaining vessels bore south to Africa and the slave market at Bujeiah. Here the Frankish children were sold. Some vanished in Bujeiah. Others went to Alexandria where the governor, Maschemuth, put them to work cultivating his fields. Sultan Malek Kamel bought seven hundred. Some few did set foot in the Holy Land but were carried away to Damascus or Baghdad where they were decapitated or drowned or shot by archers if they would not renounce our Lord.
Was this done by instinct of the devil? Cloyed with the blood of martyred men, did Satan in his blackness desire a cordial of childish blood to slake his thirst? Gregory, who was pontiff in those days, groaned with despair when he learned how these children suffered and died. Have they not put us to shame? he wondered aloud. Have not these innocents perished while we slept?
He thought to raise a monument in their honor. That islet called Accipitrum where two ships foundered was deemed appropriate. Many small corpses had washed ashore during the storm and fishermen who sometimes visited the place had buried them. His Holiness directed that a church should be constructed, the bodies of these children exhumed and reburied within. If they were found wondrously uncorrupted or not has long been argued. The church is named Ecclesia Novorum Innocentium, which recalls the murdered children of Bethlehem, and was so endowed that twelve prebends live nearby, praying incessantly. All things flow constantly fr
om God as water flows from a spring, tending ever to return.
Belgicum, Albericus, Thomas de Champré, and others make some mention of these innocents, none at length. The foolish little army had quickly come and gone. Besides, in those days the Church was bent on purifying Languedoc.
What of Stephen? An English monk, Thomas of Sherborne, while traveling through France long after the children vanished was held captive for eight days by a militant host of shepherds. This monk spoke of an old man commanding the shepherds who had been a slave in Egypt and promised the sultan he would lead an army of Christians into bondage just as he had led Frankish children into slavery when he was a child. So he journeyed here or there preaching with no authority or license, claiming Our Lady had empowered him to conscript herdsmen and ploughmen by virtue of their simplicity to recover the Holy Land, claiming to hold a mandate from the Virgin in his clenched fist, braying that the Lord was not pleased with Frankish pride in arms. Country folk left their flocks and herds to follow this old man. For, said they, God Almighty hath chosen the weak to confound the strong. And they cut themselves banners whose insignia was a lamb bearing a flag in token of humility. Exiles, thieves, rogues, excommunicates, all came swarming. Spears, axes, knives, and poniards they carried. And whoever challenged their passage they would attack. And when their master preached, what did he do but condemn various orders, calling Franciscans and Dominicans hypocrites, calling Cistercians greedy, Benedictines gluttonous. He preached unspeakable filth about the Roman curia. He raved, cursed, deviated madly from acknowledged tenets of Christian faith. People who heard such things spoken in hatred applauded loudly.
To the city of Orléans did he lead his flock, whereupon the bishop forbade clerics to listen or consort with them since it was the devil’s snare. But the citizens would hear what was preached. And the old man blasphemed, hurled insults, at which a scholar strode up close, denouncing him as a liar, heretic, enemy of truth. So a shepherd with a pointed axe split the scholar’s head to silence him. Then this army went about smashing doors, pillaging, murdering, burning books, and drowned priests in the Loire while terrified citizens pretended not to see. Next to Bourges. A curious throng assembled when this old man announced he would preach and perform miracles. But his assertions the crowd perceived as foolish, his miracles fraudulent. Some butcher cleaved his skull with a hatchet, after which they dragged his carcass to the crossroads for animals to eat. So the wicked army flew apart, each loutish soldier anxious to save his nuts. Most were caught, slain like dogs that foam at the mouth. All this did Thomas of Sherborne set down in writing after he escaped these pastouraux who got no closer to Jerusalem than Bourges.
If the furious old man who led them was Stephen of Cloyes has been much debated. Myself, I think not. If he surrendered the ghost in boiling surf at Accipitrum, lost his head at Damascus, mayhap lived out his years in Muslim slavery, or if he declined to board the Judas ships and turned back to Cloyes, who shall decide? He with all who followed him had put their trust in Almighty God, expecting to win by faith what mounted knights could not through force of arms. They had gone armed with belief in lieu of steel. For love of our Lord they undertook the voyage, not for wealth or high repute. Those who devote their lives to Him, will they ever be disappointed at His reward?
Now six hundred, threescore and six years were almost up, a number allotted to Antichrist, whose name is the Beast. Was not Mahomet conceived that long ago? Surely an hour had turned. From northern Thule to southernmost Sicily, from east to west, Europe rejoiced at a marvelous awakening, the resurrection of hope, of faith, of urgent desire. Indeed, His Holiness wrote to Sultan al-Adil about wrath to come.
Six days before Whitsuntide, that high feast which men so richly keep, here were signs and portents. Bishop Oliverius of Paderborn wrote to the count of Naumr that while in the diocese of Münster, accompanied by abbots of the Cluniac and Cistercian orders, thousands gathered to hear him speak. All seated themselves in a quiet meadow outside Bedum. No leaves rustled. Anon, from a luminous white cloud in the north a cross emerged, another manifesting in the south. Above and between these two appeared a majestic cross upon which a human figure was suspended, that of a naked man, his head leaning on his shoulder. Nails could be seen penetrating his hands and feet just as they are skillfully pictured in church. A girl of eleven pointed this out to her mother and grandmother and to other people nearby. They became lost in adoration. More than one hundred people witnessed this miracle.
Further, in a different part of the country a cross like a rainbow was noted by the abbot of Heisterbach. And above the Frisian port of Dokkum where Blessed Bonifacius achieved martyrdom a cross traveled through the sky as if drawn by a cord, as if to summon and direct pilgrims.
Bishop James of Acre, in those days visiting Gaul, preached a new sermon. He imagined Christ as a lord robbed of patrimony who calls upon his vassals. The Lord would know if His vassals were faithful. For by the loss of patrimony is He much afflicted, said Bishop James. We read in the book of Kings how the priest Eli, hearing that the Ark of the Lord was taken, fell off his stool and died from excessive grief. Who is not moved that the Holy Land is trodden underfoot? Enemies of Christ stretch forth sacrilegious hands toward her most intimate parts, oppressing the city of our salvation. She has been made the habitat of dragons, the pasture of ostriches. Which among you is not consumed by zeal for the house of the Lord? Where is the anxiety of Mattathias? Where is the dagger of Phinehas? Where is the sharp blade of Ehud? Although it is true that none is bound to our Lord by feudal law, He offers inestimable remuneration. He offers remission of sin and sheaves of joy. He offers eternal life. Therefore should we hurry to Him.
In cities and villages everywhere people awakened from a long and thoughtless slumber. Forty thousand in England began to equip themselves for the journey. The cleric Humbert asserts that he alone set down that many on his rolls. Nor did there come an end to portents. On the eve of the nativity of John the Baptist a glowing crucifix was observed from which hung the body of Jesus Christ spattered with blood and His side pierced by a lance. A trader hauling fish to Uxbridge saw this. He stood lost in ecstasy, awed by the immanent brightness. Next day at Uxbridge he related this miracle. Many believed. Others laughed until persuaded to change their opinion because the Lord materialized elsewhere to convert the incredulous through His glory. Bishops Peter of Winchester and William of Exeter made ready to join the expedition. They, like all the rest, praised God for having condescended to touch their lives. Emperor Frederick of Hohenstaufen felt moved to take the vow. Countless thousands in Germany followed his example.
Bishop James considered that in order to welcome and comfort this multitude when it reached the Holy Land he should return to the diocese of Acre. Thus he set out for Genoa on a mule, but was assaulted by the devil. There is extant a letter he wrote from Genoa in October of the year 1216.
No sooner did I come to Lombardy than Satan cast my weapons into the stream. That is to say, my books, with which I meant to fight him. Because of melting snow the stream was greatly swollen. Bridges and rocks had been carried off. One of my trunks filled with books was swept away, but a second trunk that contained a finger of my mother, Marie d’Oignies, buoyed the mule and saved it from drowning. The first trunk I found caught in the branches of a tree. Although my books were somewhat spoilt, one might yet make out the words.
Is it not clear how Satan rouses volatile passions against us? A nun in the Abbaye-aux-Dames at Caen devoted herself not to the Lord but to venery, nor would she be persuaded to confess. No matter that she was admonished on her deathbed, she chose to expire obstinate, admitting nothing that would do her any good. Not long afterward a sister slept in the cell where this nun died and dreamt of a fire on the hearth and the wicked nun burning, all the while beaten with hammers by two black spirits on either side. Then at the stroke of a hammer a spark darted into the eye of the dreaming sister, which caused her to wake up. Now she understood the vision, and there was a stingin
g pain in her eye to verify it.
We are told of a monk who requested tutelage in the black arts from Satan. That I could not do, replied this ancient enemy of mankind, except you deny your faith and make a sacrifice. Then the foolish monk asked what sacrifice he should make. That which is delectable, said the adversary. You shall make a libation of your seed for me to drink, but you shall taste it first. The monk did as instructed, by this horrible act declaring his renunciation of God. We are informed that he made unscrupulous use of a nun if the brother who shared his cell was absent. But one day the brother returned sooner than expected so the monk called upon the black magic he acquired from Satan, changing his lascivious nun into a dog. This matter came to the notice of Anselm who was abbot of Bec, later archbishop of Canterbury. Through Anselm’s judgment the monk was cast out from administering divine mysteries. Yet so long as he lived he thought he would someday become bishop. This proud idea he got from Satan, who tells lies perpetually, since when the monk died he was no more a bishop than a goat, but an unfrocked priest forever. Are we not privileged to observe how the Creator guides us, how He confronts and vanquishes Satan at every turn?
How should we recognize our antagonist? Some think his head remarkably small, like a green fruit, his shoulders extremely broad. All at once he may show himself in a whirlwind. Anon, he will take up the guise of a querulous bitch that spins about and bites and snaps. His manifestations defy us. Devils are known to appear en masse, garbed as pilgrims, wallets slung against their haunches in the manner of Scots. Or like badgers, as reported from the district of Vexin. Guibert de Nogent declares that our enemy takes the guise of a little man who wears an orange-yellow tunic, a defiant sparrowhawk riding on his hand. Guibert when he was young awoke during the night to a clamor of voices and saw a man who earlier had died in the baths. Then, says he, I leapt screaming from my bed. I saw the lamp extinguished and saw a hideous shape, the devil’s outline.
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