“Here is Father Yves. I have brought him to dinner, and he says that true Christians can stand up for Count Bohemund as much as they like.”
“Then you must get used to calling him Prince Bohemund,” his wife answered gaily. “He claims that Antioch is a principality and that will be his title in future, so Robert was telling me yesterday.”
“Why not Emperor Bohemund?” put in Father Yves. “For he will certainly recognize no temporal superior, and I believe that is the distinguishing mark of an Empire.”
They sat down cheerfully to a good dinner, and discussed the various failings of the Count of Toulouse.
At the end of August the heat increased. There was always a certain amount of disease when armies encamped for too long on the same ground, and those who were stricken with “the sickness of the host”, as it was generally known, rarely recovered; but now the number of deaths increased, and there were rumours of plague. By the middle of September this was definitely established, and all who could began to leave the city. Roger and Anne debated what to do; they had a comfortable house that cost them nothing, and plenty of servants, but it seemed foolish to risk the danger of infection; on the other hand the port of Saint Simeon, the obvious place to go for refuge, was overcrowded and expensive, and the plague was almost certain to follow them there.
They had made up their minds to stay in the house, which was high enough to escape the worst odours of the lower town, and to keep indoors as much as possible, when Robert de Santa Fosca called one day with another solution. He came in the evening after supper, when the sun had set with some promise of coolness. He was dressed all in light silk garments, and looked healthy, cool, and prosperous. When the Syrian servant had shown him into the living-room, he first kissed Anne, and complimented her on her beauty.
“But it is amazing how you keep your health in this foul city,” he went on. “I have decided to get out while I am still on my feet, before they carry me to the burial ground.”
“You don’t look ill,” answered Roger, “and that silk is magnificent. The service of the Count of Taranto must be well rewarded.
“The Prince of Antioch looks after his followers properly,” Robert corrected him, “but I didn’t get this silken mantle from him. I had a rather amusing and well-paid job under the Bailey of Genoa, persuading the Jews to go to his factory and not to the Provençals. We met them outside the gates, and if you are in armour they are quick enough to take a hint. But there is too much plague about now, and the Genoese will have to get along without my services. Have you any plans for getting out of the town?”
“We have been discussing that,” said Roger. “It is a good idea to get away from the sickness, but living is cheaper here than anywhere else, and I can’t think of any other place to go to. Anne and I have decided to stay, and bolt the doors; though of course they will always be open to you, cousin.”
“I have a better scheme than that to propose,” Robert said gaily. “I didn’t resign my duties with the Genoese until I had something else fixed up. There is a little castle out beyond Harenc, just an outpost, you know; but we hold it to protect merchants from the Arabs of the desert. Prince Bohemund has given me command of the twenty or so crossbowmen who garrison it, and authorized me to find another knight to act as my lieutenant. Would you care to take on the appointment, and bring Domna Anne?”
Roger looked at his wife to see what she thought of the offer. She nodded and smiled, much to his relief, and he gratefully accepted.
“I suppose that I shall be free to join the army of All Saints’ Day,” he added cautiously, “and that I shan’t be required to bear arms against anyone except the infidel? I am still the man of the Duke of Normandy, and I can’t leave him permanently without his consent; though he doesn’t want us until November.”
“Don’t worry about your Duke,” answered Robert. “No one is going to wage war on him, and he can’t have the slightest objection. He need not even know what you are doing, unless you choose to tell him.”
So it was arranged, and Roger decided that since he clearly had leave of absence until All Saints’ Day there was no point in worrying the Duke for permission.
A few days later the three of them set out. Their destination had no other name than the Black Castle beyond Harenc, and was the furthest outpost in that direction that was yet in Christian hands. They found it to be a small square stone fort, with higher square towers at the angles, and one gateway, just wide enough to admit a cart. The walls were patchwork of all ages, for it was placed on the edge of a valley leading south-eastward towards a crossing of the Euphrates, and a castle of some sort had stood there since men first began to build in stone; but the latest repairs had been done by the Greeks fifty years ago, and the towers were sheer and strong, though some of the roof-beams had rotted. The tower with the most watertight roof was cleaned out and arranged for the occupation of the gentry; the other towers were used as armouries and storerooms, while the foot, their families, and the horses bivouacked in the courtyard. They found another knight in charge, also a Norman from Italy, but he was sick with dysentery, and eager to get away; Robert gave him money, and Roger understood that his cousin had bought the command.
The duties were simple and light. When a caravan arrived from the river it spent a night under the walls, and next day about a dozen crossbowmen escorted it as far as Harenc, riding on the pack-animals; then they would walk the nine miles back. One of the knights accompanied the escort as commander, and this was usually Roger’s duty, unless Robert was bored and wanted air and exercise. Robert was tactful and easy-going, but Roger found it strange and rather irksome to take orders personally from an individual; hitherto he had obeyed the criers who transmitted the Duke’s commands to the pilgrims of Normandy in the mass, and there had been nothing invidious in doing what everybody else did at the same time; now he felt uncomfortable while his cousin, smiling pleasantly, told him when to march out and at what time to be back.
On the other hand, Anne enjoyed herself immensely. She had to fulfil the duties of a chatelaine, since she was the only lady in the place, and was perfectly happy all day, inspecting the living-quarters and the well, giving out the food, and dosing the sick. She did not seem to miss the company of other ladies, and got on very well with the women of the crossbowmen, though many of them were of loose morals and all were dirty and stupid; after all, Roger reflected, in Provence there was no difference of race between the lower classes and the gentry, and she had not been brought up in the careful segregation of class-conscious and conquered England.
Life was healthy and simple, but his duties kept him away from Anne, through no fault of his own; her interest in housekeeping was something he could not share, and she was so often alone with Robert that they developed private jokes and memories that made him feel out of it. But she was his wife, and Robert was his cousin; both were well-born and trustworthy, and would not dishonour themselves by carrying on an intrigue.
One bright, crisp October day, when there were no merchants to escort, both knights had spent the afternoon outside the castle, trying to shoot partridges with borrowed crossbows, since the ground was too stony for riding them down on horseback. They came back to find a mule-train had arrived from Harenc. The escort were preparing to leave on their march home, but before they went the captain of the crossbowmen passed on a piece of news: Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the Pope’s Legate with the pilgrimage, had died suddenly of the plague. Over supper they discussed this sad event, and its bearing on the future of the expedition. Anne expressed the proper sentiments:
“He was a good man, and gave up his safe and comfortable bishopric to come out to these infidel lands; now he has died far from his home. God rest his soul. Will the Pope appoint another Legate to govern us? What do you think, Messer Robert?”
“It is, of course, sad,” Robert agreed with a sympathetic smile, “though the poor man was really no warrior, and the expedition will be no worse off without him. The question is, do we reall
y want another Legate, even if the Pope appoints one? Prince Bohemund is the best man to lead us in battle, we don’t need a bishop for that; and the government of the land can be settled at this council that is fixed for All Saints’ Day.”
“The government of the land will be easy to settle,” said Roger quickly, “since you Normans of Italy hold all the castles and most of the city wall. If you are not too greedy, and leave Count Baldwin in Edessa, and the Count of Toulouse in his lands up the valley, no one will try to turn you out of this county, or principality, or whatever you choose to call it. But is there to be nothing more than a council-meeting on All Saints’ Day? The Duke of Normandy has shown no sign of going home yet, and I thought they were going to plan another campaign, for the next cold weather.”
“What do we want with another campaign?” said Anne. “Haven’t we done all that we set out to do? The Christians of the East are quite safe, and we have reconquered hundreds of miles and scores of towns from the infidel. Now we only need a formal meeting, with plenty of parchment and sealing-wax, to give us a good title to the conquered lands.”
“You forget that none of us has any land as yet,” said Roger, seeing that the other two seemed to be agreed. “I know that you, cousin, expect to get this castle or another when Count Bohemund is invested with his principality. But what about me, and all the other landless knights? We must conquer enough to make a whole kingdom if the East is to be safe. And since we are so near, it would be a pity to leave Jerusalem in the hands of the infidel.”
“What is all this about Jerusalem?” said Robert, rather angrily. “We came out here to rescue the Christians of the East, and we have done so. It is rich fertile land round here, and the hills are cool enough for us to live in summer. Down south they say it is all desert, and the climate is too hot for our horses. If you want to increase our land and make it a kingdom, there is all the Empire of Romania to conquer.”
“No, we must not do that,” said Roger, with a firmness that surprised himself. “We have just managed to avoid open war with the Greeks so far, though it has often been touch and go.”
“We cannot now avoid open war,” answered Robert fiercely. “Haven’t you heard what Count Raymond has been up to? You know he has been campaigning in the south? Well, he has captured Laodicea, on the coast, and handed it over to the Drungarius of the Greek Empire. He must have been bribed, that sticks out a mile; but if we are going to be hemmed in on both sides by the Greeks, we shall be forced to attack them when the next fighting season opens.”
“But this is fantastic,” said Roger. “Are you proposing to make war on the whole world, Christian and infidel alike? That is to plunder like a brigand.”
“It looks as though the Pope should not send another Legate, but come over himself to command us,” put in Anne, who saw that the cousins might quarrel. “We could have a cardinal in charge of each contingent, and we should be at peace until the Holy Father died; then we could start a war to see who should succeed him.”
“Our forefathers knew all about making and unmaking Popes, when they first came to Italy,” said Robert with a laugh; but he saw that Anne was worried, and did not want to make an enemy of her husband. He went on in a quiet, reasonable tone, as though appealing from one man of the world to another. “You know, Roger, what we have done already is more than could have been hoped for; in fact I shouldn’t disagree if you describe it as miraculous. Most of us have fought our way from the Adriatic to the Orontes, and always, at the last moment, when things seemed hopeless, our enemies fled before our face. But it can’t go on indefinitely. For the last eighteen months there have been no serious quarrels in the army, apart from those skirmishes in Cilicia. Would you have believed three years ago that Frenchmen and Lotharingians, or Aquitainians and Provençals, could have fought together in harmony for two long and bitter campaigns? But that won’t last. The more different nations see of one another, the more they hate their allies; that is only human nature, and nothing can alter it. This pilgrimage has done all it can, and we should separate before we turn our swords on our fellow-Christians.”
Roger saw that his cousin was making an effort to be reasonable and friendly, so he answered gently: “I suppose the Provençals could go home; the Count of Toulouse has wide lands in Europe. And you Apulians now have land here, enough for your needs. But that isn’t what you really mean. You, and your Count, want to conquer the Christian lands to the north and west. Well, I think we should go on to Jerusalem, and win new provinces from the infidel. However, it is not a thing that you or I can settle. The council of leaders on All Saints’ Day will decided what has to be done. Meanwhile we are here in this little castle, and I am under your orders. Let us not discuss the future, but follow our lords loyally when the time comes.” They went on quietly to arrange the routine for the next day, grumbling about the short-comings of the native food supply.
The climate of the Orontes valley is pleasant for Europeans in October, and as the month wore on everyone’s health and spirits revived; more important still, the horses grew fit and strong on their diet of barley and chopped straw. The two cousins agreed to differ about the future, and Roger compelled himself to carry out his duties cheerfully. They heard that the Count of Taranto had not been very successful in the north, where the Grand Drungarius with the Greek fleet had occupied many towns in Isauria and Cilicia; what had happened to Laodicea was not certain, but clearly there was a Greek force on the southern frontier.
As autumn drew on, and the rains broke, the Tigris and Euphrates began to rise and few caravans came from the east; on the Feast of Saints Simon and Jude, the 28th of October, they set out for Antioch, leaving the castle in charge of the local Christian inhabitants. This was risky, for the natives would never dare to hold it against the dreaded Turks, but Roger did not protest; he knew without being told that Count Bohemund needed all his force at Antioch, in case the council broke up in open warfare, and that Robert had probably received secret orders to bring every man with him.
At Antioch they found that Roger’s old house had been taken by some important baron who was attending the council; but things had settled down, after four months’ peace among a friendly population, and huts had been erected in the old camp of the pilgrims for those who could not get lodging in the town; even the Duke of Normandy had done a bit of organizing for once, and all his followers were grouped together at the east end of the camp, well away from any fighting that might break out by the Bridge Gate.
The council was prepared to sit for many days; everyone feared that civil war might start if no decision could be reached, and the leaders outlined their policies cautiously, with many delays and private interviews to win over the waverers. The first question to be decided was the disposal of Antioch. Though Bohemund held three-quarters of it he had the usual Norman longing for unassailable title-deeds, and the Provençals still held the remaining sector of the wall. They could not turn him out without a disastrous battle, and the real argument was as to how he should hold it and from whom. The Count of Toulouse spoke in favour of the claim of the Greek Emperor as overlord. Most of the other leaders were undecided. In a sense the discussion was rather unreal; nobody thought Bohemund would make a reliable vassal, on whatever terms he held from the Greeks, and he was in actual physical possession. But these matters of feudal law had to be settled with an eye to the future; Bohemund might be a rebel by nature, but his descendents would find any claims now incurred were a perpetual obligation. So the debate moved slowly on, with much hair-splitting about the treaty that had been agreed after the fall of Nicaea, and many disputes about the exact amount of help Alexius had given.
The fate of the town was only the open and visible sign of another question that lurked in the background: what were the pilgrims to do next? It was clear that an independent Prince of Antioch would need the largest army he could raise, menaced as he would be by Greeks and infidels alike; on the other hand, the Count of Toulouse wanted to take as many pilgrims as possible on a
further campaign towards Jerusalem, and this would be much easier if Bohemund’s wings were clipped and he needed no more than garrisons for his cities. The general public could do very little to influence the conduct of the debate; they must follow their lords’ banners, or at most take service under another commander. Roger was content to wait for a lead from his Duke, and did not often intervene in the violent arguments of the waiting crowd outside the Chapter House. Rather to his surprise, Anne also agreed that it was better to wait and see.
Another, parallel, dispute occupied the clergy and the more religious-minded laity, the everlasting debate on the merits of the Holy Lance. The death of the Legate had left the churchmen with out an undisputed authority to appeal to, though the accident that he had himself been a Provençal had in this case weakened belief in his impartiality. The whole question really turned on the good faith and credibility of Father Peter Bartholomew; obviously, if he had invented the story of his midnight vision, he could easily have smuggled the lance-head into its supposed hiding-place under the altar while pretending to excavate it. So all these questions, the fate of Antioch, the proposed capture of Jerusalem, and the holiness of the Holy Lance, divided the pilgrims into the same two conflicting parties.
Taking their cue from the Duke of Normandy, Roger’s companions were not strong partisans. Most of them had a mild veneration for the Holy Lance, since it was not easy to find any other explanation for their surprising victory in the last battle; but they respected Count Bohemund as a brave and skilful warrior, though rather out of his element on a pilgrimage.
Meanwhile the council of leaders, after meeting daily for more than a week, broke up without coming to any decision except to meet again at Epiphany. It had not quite come to an open quarrel, though there had been a few scuffles between Provençals and Apulians round the towers on the wall. The de Bodehams lived in considerable comfort in a large hut in the Norman camp, went to a number of parties, and entertained frequently themselves; they still had their conscripted servants, and Tom the crossbowman looked after the horse.
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