The Green Count

by Christian Cameron

  This was palpably true. There was no one with whom to joust, no one training at the pells, and the English langue seemed full only because we all preferred it. There were probably fewer than fifty knights on the whole island, and as many brother sergeants.

  Fra Robert turned to Nerio. ‘You know that the Princess of Achaea has threatened war with your brother?’ he asked.

  Nerio shrugged. ‘I’m five weeks behind on news,’ he said. ‘And all my cash is stopped.’

  Fra Robert nodded. ‘I heard,’ he agreed. ‘I believe you will find that the word is in Venice that you are dead.’

  Nerio slapped his forehead. ‘Of course!’ he said.

  I tugged at my beard. ‘Turenne. Or the Hungarian.’ I could see it. A very easy matter.

  Fra Robert shook his head. ‘What Hungarian?’ he asked.

  I looked at Nerio. ‘An assassin hired by Robert of Geneva to kill the legate,’ I said.

  That brought on silence.

  ‘I don’t suppose you can prove that?’ Fra Robert asked.

  ‘No,’ I admitted.

  He sighed. ‘Tell me everything about this man,’ he said.

  We provided a description, and I told him that Fra Peter would know him.

  Hales frowned. ‘That makes what I’m going to ask even harder,’ he said. ‘I want you to go to Morea and help Nerio, but most of all I want you to go to Count Amadeus.’

  ‘I think I will be the wrong ambassador,’ I protested. ‘He has no love for me.’

  Fra Robert shrugged. ‘My hands are tied. I have no one else. And in truth, you will benefit from the Order’s protection; and perhaps Nerio’s as well. The Green Count has a great reputation, a sovereign preux, and a name for justice. See if you can sway him to come here to Rhodes.’

  Miles narrowed his eyes. ‘I had intended to go home to England,’ he said.

  ‘And Venice is en route,’ Fra Peter said.

  Fiore was looking at the candle, as he often did. He could stare at candles for hours, and he said they focused his thoughts.

  I was thinking about many things at once: the Hungarian; my wife; how tired I was, suddenly, of the Holy Land.

  ‘If you are going, I’ll need you to go very soon. I’ve held the Genoese two days – could you sail tomorrow?’ Fra Robert was pressing.

  The turcopolier pretended to be somewhere else. Hales was well known for his political skills; almost as well known as Fra Juan di Heredia.

  ‘I need to bespeak my lady wife,’ I said.

  ‘I am rather counting on her to accompany you,’ Fra Robert said. ‘She, at least, is a favourite of the Green Count.’

  I nodded. I was sick of the whole thing.

  But I had forgotten my Persian friend, and of course, the evening had been laid on for him. So when he arrived with Sabraham, I had to put on a good face and pretend to be fascinated by the tales of his travels, which were sometimes amazing and sometimes unbelievable. When he saw his listeners beginning to doubt him, Hafiz-i Abun had a tendency to add detail and unbelievable action which made us doubt him the more. And yet, he really had seen an incredible amount of the world, and he was witty and courteous and absolutely unafraid, even though he was, by Moslem standards, in the very epicentre of armed Christianity.

  Indeed, he passed his arm through mine and bent close to whisper, ‘No one in Persia will ever imagine I came here, or believe me.’

  But he could also tell a great tale, and his tale of having diarrhoea while attempting to perform his religious devotions at Mecca was touching, funny, and very human. All of us have had the experience of having something interfere with the very highest motives; we laughed and laughed.

  Fra Robert asked him to sell his Christian slave, and Hafiz-i Abun bowed. ‘I give her to you,’ he said. ‘She has been ill-used, and I would not … abuse her. Tell me, what life will she have here?’ The Moslem traveller looked around. ‘I have seen Moslem slaves working in the streets, here.’

  Fra Robert fingered his beard. ‘You make a good argument, my friend. True – our prisoners are put to work. But most are ransomed – indeed, we often handle prisoner exchanges for other – ahem – Franks.’ Then he said something in Arabic, very fast, and I only caught the word for ‘God.’ But Hafiz-i Abun raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  ‘So it is,’ he said in Italian.

  And later still, Fra William de Midelton turned the subject to Persia, and we heard Hafiz-i Abun describe his home, and the near constant state of war that engulfed much of it, and the Mongol ‘rulers’ who held it en fief, and again I was struck by how very complex the world was. I had thought all Persia to be rich, and fabulous, fantastic, mythological, and so very Islamic; instead, our traveller revealed a patchwork of beliefs and tribes and polities, and many of them were beyond my understanding.

  So I lay, later, with Nerio and Fiore and Stapleton in our four beds, staring into the darkness.

  ‘It could be worse,’ Stapleton said.

  ‘How?’ Nerio asked. ‘We’ve no money.’

  ‘It is a good empris,’ Miles said. ‘We go to the Morea, help Nerio, find this Green Count, and deliver the Order’s messages, and we’re done. Then we travel to Venice. And then …’

  There was silence.

  ‘Then we part,’ Fiore said calmly. ‘I have not seen my mother or father in more than a year.’

  ‘I will probably stay in Morea,’ Nerio said.

  ‘I will go back to England,’ Miles said, ‘and be married.’

  There was an explosion of comment and laughter, and someone struck Miles with a bolster.

  ‘No, I’m to wed!’ he said.

  ‘You’ve never said a word!’ I said.

  ‘You never asked!’ he said, like men the world over, and then he laughed himself. ‘I’ve never met her, but there’s a letter here from my da, and another from Lord Grey.’

  ‘You should probably go with Fra Robert,’ I said.

  Somewhere in the darkness, Miles laughed. ‘I probably should,’ he said. ‘But I want … another adventure.’

  Nerio chuckled. ‘Miles. You should beware. You can grow too fond of adventure. Look at William.’

  Fiore snorted so hard I thought he might be snoring, but it was laughter. ‘For myself,’ he said, ‘I still want to meet a really good Saracen swordsman.’ He sighed. ‘ Hafiz-i Abun is the merest butcher.’

  In the morning, I found Emile at the earliest opportunity, and she agreed to sail with the Genoese. We got ourselves and our horses back aboard; Messire Parmenio scowled at me a great deal, and we were both aware that I was directly responsible for his delay in sailing. But our men-at-arms had become veterans at ships, and we had everyone aboard in two hours.

  Parmenio glanced at me from his stern castle. His glare softened.

  ‘Always a pleasure to have a hold full of knights,’ he admitted. ‘In these waters, any road.’

  We touched twice on our route north. Despite the Order’s need for haste, the Genoese had a route, and he had no intention of deviating, so we sailed to Samos, and then north to Chios, where Emile bought mastic and I bought some as well. Our retinue had begun to grumble about payment, which I could well understand. And at Chios, Hafiz-i Abun was not allowed off the ship.

  I had about sixty gold florins to my name, and Emile’s purse had about the same, and the merchants of Chios were no more interested in extending credit to us or Nerio than the merchants of Rhodes.

  You can see Lesvos from the deck of your ship as you leave harbour on Chios; it is very close. But out of a clear blue sky we had a sudden, explosive storm; our ship was thrown on her beam ends, and she rolled out her mainmast.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever been so terrified. All of us were bruised, and Emile broke a bone in her hand, and her maid, Helen, broke her nose when she was thrown off her bunk and was inconsolable for two days, although at
the time she rather stoically continued to hold Edouard.

  As for me, I was in the hold with the horses. Nerio and John and Marc-Antonio and I made them lie down, and as the others could reach us – Bernard and Jason and Jean-François and Pierre – they got their chargers down and then helped with other horses. But it was pitch-black down there, with panicked horses and the knowledge that if the ship foundered, we were going with it, and I prayed a great deal and cursed as much or more. And it seemed unending – at one point Fiore got a candle lit, and then it went out; lightning flashes came through the great grating amidships, to show us that one or another of our behemoths had decided to get to its idiot feet and kick something. And yet, when the ship rolled, and the crew did something marvellous and heroic which saved us, I only fell on Gawain, who bit me. As I was wearing an old arming doublet, all I got was a wicked bruise on my arm.

  But in the fifteen or so heartbeats where we lay on our side, water pouring in, I thought we were done, and instead of prayer, I cursed that I would drown and not die with a sword in my hand, and cursed again that I was not with Emile, but with my horse.

  I swear it almost seemed funny.

  And then the ship began to right itself. Actually, Maestro Parmenio had cut away the mainmast with an axe, but I had no way of knowing that, and the inrush of water ceased, and in fact, it was only a little above our ankles. And of course all the horses panicked again.

  John performed miracles of horse ministry, and Marc-Antonio was as brave as could be asked, and the rest of us, sodden and stinking, simply hung on to a couple of them and tried to say calming things, and in an hour, there was sunshine flooding the hold.

  I went on deck and my wife threw her arms around me, which, considering what is in the bilge of a ship, was very loving of her.

  And we didn’t sail into Mytiline, the capital of the princes of Lesvos, but rather landed in a great bay on the south side of the island called ‘Beautiful’ in Greek. And Hafiz-i Abun fell on his knees on the beach and prayed, and so did most of the rest of us.

  Lesvos is a great island, the size of an English county – or even two – with four fine cities the size of Lincoln: Mytiline is the ancient capital, with a fine fortress that dates back to the time of the Romans; Eressos, where Sappho the poetess had her school, as my wife hurried to tell me; Methymna, as fine a town as any I’ve seen, with a castle that Achilles once sacked, above a superb small harbour; and Antissa, a Genoese walled town within signalling distance of Methymna. The Gatelussi family rule the island and several others. They were merchant adventurers about the time I was born, and the emperor – the Greek one – granted them Lesvos for military service. I have been back many times, as you shall hear if we’re trapped here a few more nights, but suffice it to say it is a fine place, well ruled and very rich.

  You see, Master Chaucer? I can say good things about the Genoese.

  At any rate, by the power of the divine intercession of the Virgin, we were saved and had not sunk in sight of land, and Maestro Parmenio had to admit that it would be days before his ship was fit for travel. And our horses were shockingly knocked about; those horses were the livelihood of most of us, and so we landed them, right over the side, and we swam them ashore in the Arab manner. John was instrumental in this, but it is the finest technique – so much better than trying to land them, and injuring them in a crane. I remember seeing the men powering a crane lose their pace, and a fine warhorse go smashing to the surface of a stone pier, breaking all four legs and having to be put down, screaming its noble heart out on a dock at Calais. This is something the Mamluks and Mongols do much better than we do; perhaps because their water is warmer.

  At any rate, we got them all ashore, all except one fine stallion, Hafiz-i Abun’s gift from the emir, who had to be put down.

  Nerio got us guides, and we gathered our horse herd and rode cross-country to Mytilene, which was great fun. We got wondrously lost because we didn’t know the shape of the island, and our guides were clearly guilty of wanting to visit a sacred shrine; but we were as happy to worship at a noble church high on a mountain as they were themselves. There we saw an icon donated by the Greek Emperor Alexis, he who was at war so often with the great Bohemund in the days of the First Crusade and the taking of Jerusalem. We stayed there, in the town with the fine church and the ancient icon, called ‘Hagios’ or just ‘Holy’ in Greek.

  It is a little thing, but as we rode across Lesvos, I rode with Emile and her children, and we began to play at being a family. It was fascinating, and Sister Marie was my best ally, but I did get Edouard to be a little less sullen by letting him ride the smallest Arab. Magdalene was never sullen at any time, and Isabelle was always easy; I think she always liked me. And the second evening, the horses were much better and we came down a great ridge after we passed a magnificent aqueduct built by the Romans.

  And there was Mytilene. It was the start of sunset, and the town’s red tile roofs were like a foretaste of Constantinople, as were the many churches and the ringing of bells for service.

  ‘Why must you infidels raise such an infernal clamour,’ Hafiz-i Abun asked Fiore.

  The two of them had begun to be friends, over chess. And the Persian was allowing the Italian to teach him his theories of fencing. They were two exceptionally proud men, but they seemed to have some way of communicating that went beyond language, especially when they played chess.

  Fiore laughed. ‘Why must you heretics have men shriek from towers?’ he asked.

  Hafiz-i Abun looked down at the town and then laughed. ‘I suppose there is something to what you say,’ he said.

  ‘There usually is,’ Fiore replied.

  Mytilene was like the aftermath of our noble dream of Jerusalem. By the time we crested the hill, forty brilliantly equipped men-at-arms from the palace came out to escort us, and we were taken directly to rooms – sumptuous rooms. The palace was so new that you could smell the plaster and the stucco everywhere – the painted wall, brilliantly frescoed, in our solar was still cool and a little damp to the touch. We had a spectacular view out over the walls and across to the Turkish coast. It was a beautiful place.

  By then, the children had decided to be delighted by Lesvos. As it was, technically, Outremer, I’d told Edouard that he was now a crusader, and nothing could make him happier than being a crusader. We had a balcony high above the sea, and I found him there, waving his dagger – de Charny’s dagger, in fact – at the Turks four miles away.

  Well. He had spirit, that boy.

  The Prince himself was there to receive us, and after we’d stabled our horse herd and our still-damp belongings, we were invited to his hall for food, which proved almost impossibly sumptuous, especially as the meal was for thirty travellers who had arrived late.

  The captain of the Prince’s company of lances was English; a Northumbrian and a Percy – Sir Richard Percy. It was a pleasure to hear English spoken, and my archers all but fell into his arms. He had a dozen English men-at-arms and as many English archers, almost all northern men, burned brown so that they looked more like paynim than Hafiz-i Abun, especially as they all wore turbans on their helmets.

  I asked him what a Borders man was doing in Outremer and he laughed. ‘Were you at Poitiers?’ he asked.

  I smiled. It’s always unsure ground, when you admit you aren’t well-born. ‘I was a squire,’ I said.

  He nodded sharply. ‘Thought I knew you. John Hawkwood was knighted on the field. You were there.’

  ‘I was, too,’ I admitted.

  ‘I was in the Earl of Oxford’s household,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘When the Peace was signed, I thought I’d go to Avignon and make my fortune.’ He shrugged again. ‘An agent for the Gatelussi hired me there and I have made my fortune. I was going to Italy to follow Hawkwood, but now …’ He grinned. ‘The Prince is the best paymaster in the world, except mayhap the Sultan in Cairo.’

  I told hi
m a little of my story and he nodded.

  ‘You served with yon knights?’ he asked, surprised. ‘At yer own expense?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘You must be rich,’ he said. ‘I could take some pointers. Nay, I mean no offence. They say it’s a hard school, and certes the Order knights who come here are hard, proud men. Right bastards, too.’

  I admitted that many were.

  ‘I’ve learned a mort of soldiering from them,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, aye,’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘There’s nothing like fightin’ out here to teach you soldierin’. I can’t wait to ha’ a go at the Scots.’ He shook his head. ‘Fightin’ Turks is the best trainin’ there is, for cattle raiding or people raidin’.’ He looked at me and poured more wine. ‘Mayhap we could run a course or two tomorrow and strike our swords together? Eh? Your Cap’n Parmenio will be here a week – his warehouses are here.’

  That night I slept in a bed with my own wife; a pleasure, and a restful one. And the next day she helped me dress in my arming clothes, and Edouard, proud as Lucifer, followed me to the wooden lists in the castle’s enormous courtyard with my gauntlets and helmet, which were almost too much for him to carry.

  Prince Francesco was there, sitting on an ivory chair with his sons around him; he introduced me, very seriously, to his sons Andronico, who was just ten, and Domenico who was eight – closer to Edouard’s age, and clearly jealous that my step-son was carrying my helmet.

  I was also surprised to find Nerio sitting in a fine chair like a great lord. It’s odd, when I tell these tales, I suppose it always sounds as if I’m the focus, because … Well, because I am me. But at Mytilene, Nerio was very much the great lord, and I was merely a knight, possibly in his train.

  I knew that Nerio was working to establish his credentials so that he could raise money. I was worried, really worried, that I was going to lose all my fine men-at-arms and all my good horseflesh for lack of means to pay them. I had got used to spending Nerio’s money.