Knight with Armour

by Alfred Duggan

  “Good heavens, Roger,” Anne said excitedly. “Surely you are not still babbling about that oath you took in Rouen more than two years ago. Can’t you see that everything has changed since then? Our whole future depends on our joining the right side now, while your support is still of some value. What can the Duke do to you if we leave him? I need not remind you again that we still have no land for him to harry, although that is a thing you should never forget. Even your family at home is outside his dominions. You are a free man, and your own master, and now is the time to get on the winning side.”

  “Oh, leave me alone,” snapped Roger. “Don’t they have oaths in Provence? I am bound by my oath until the Duke leaves. I am certainly on Bohemund’s side, like all sensible men. But I won’t desert my lord at the very end of my service, after being faithful to him for neatly three years.”

  “A fine faithful vassal you’ve been, I’m sure,” said Anne, her voice rising into a high nagging whine that Roger had never heard before, “and how does he reward you? With your bare food, as though you were a scullion in his kitchen. But you are afraid to defy your lord openly, as befits a man of rank and honour. I suppose you think the Duke would have you beaten, like an insubordinate villein.”

  It was an unfortunate choice of words, for of course it suggested to Roger what was the next thing to be done; he picked up a spur-strap that lay conveniently near, and thrashed her soundly. Then he walked out in a towering rage, without any supper.

  It was already dark, and he was annoyed to find that he had left his purse at home. Now he could not go back to fetch it; though he was hungry and faint from the emotion that possessed him. He took himself off finally to the Duke’s kitchen, where the butler would give him something. Munching bread and cold meat, as he stood in the crowd outside the kitchen, he reflected on the pig-headedness of Anne, and the insulting way she had spoken to him. He remembered what his father had so often said, that oaths were the framework and the foundation of Christian society; every Christian’s right to the land he held was based on an oath, and it was because no one could trust a Jewish or infidel oath that Jews and infidels could not hold land rightfully. All that stood between Christendom and the horrid bloodshed of the reign of Antichrist was the sanctity of the vassal’s oath. Of course, a lord might be unreasonable, or covetous, or try to interfere with his vassal’s private affairs, and in that case rebellion was justified, after defiance openly given, though never by treachery. But the Duke had not done anything that he could rightfully complain of; his procrastination in setting out had actually given them the easiest journey to Constantinople of any of the pilgrims; and since then he had fed his followers as well as most of the army, and had led them bravely in battle. Perhaps it had been a mistake in the first place to follow a leader who had land in Europe, and intended to return; Roger now saw that that was the prime cause of all his troubles; but any knight ought to be proud to serve the natural lord of all the Norman race, and he could not blame himself for that. Anyway, he told himself, he was one of the most loyal knights in the army, he had every reason to be proud, and he would damn well teach that foolish wife of his to recognize his remarkable strength of character. Having reached this satisfactory conclusion he went home to bed; Anne pretended to be asleep, and refused to take any notice of him.

  Next morning the whole camp was excitedly discussing the developments in yesterday’s council. Anyone could see there was a serious danger of division between knights and foot. The Italians of course had nothing to worry about; the Normans of Italy would divide up the land into fiefs, and the crossbowmen from the Genoese and Pisan fleets would help them to man the walls of the city. The Provençals were in rather an exalted state; they had been despised as second-class warriors, not nearly as formidable as Normans, and their Count had been accused of malingering in the face of the enemy; now they were setting an example to the whole army, and if any others marched on Jerusalem it would be under their leadership. All the other contingents were divided among themselves, and tended to divide on a class basis; the knights wanted to stay where they were, at least until all the fiefs of Antioch had been given out to new possessors; the foot thought more of their souls and less of their temporal welfare; of course, as Roger heard a jongleur point out, that was one reason why they were still poor and on foot, after all these opportunities for plunder.

  There was no formal council, for everything that needed attention had been settled yesterday; but there was all the same a great coming and going of messengers from the various chanceries, and counts and dukes were busy calling on one another. Roger, carefully taking his purse this time, had gone out early, telling Anne that he wanted to find out all the news, and that he would buy his meals at a cook-shop. She seemed to have got over her beating, as all sensible wives must learn how to do; she was amiable enough, though subdued.

  He went first to the Duke’s pavilion, but found no definite news. The foot was thoroughly disturbed; they and their women were running about like ants, packing their belongings and bargaining with the Syrian traders for the hire of baggage-animals. As a knight he was greeted with black looks on every side, and heard a few shouted remarks behind him, though he was unable to catch the words.

  He strolled into the city, where the streets were full of Provençals moving their plunder, and preparing to evacuate the positions they had held in the towers along the wall; he met patrols of Italian foot-sergeants, already policing the town in the name of the new Prince of Antioch. In the Cathedral Square a small crowd hung about, in case the council should meet after all. Roger leaned against a wall, sheltered from the cold wind that whistled through the streets, and settled down to watch with the others. This delay was extremely tiresome; if he wanted a fief he should offer his services to Prince Bohemund as soon as possible, while the new army of Antioch was still eager for recruits; yet he was impressed by the cheerful alacrity of the Provençals, and the undisguised hostility of the Norman foot. It was a big step to change his allegiance now, and an even bigger one to admit that as far as he was concerned the pilgrimage was at an end. Also, there was still his oath; until the Duke finally made up his mind to go home he could not leave him.

  Just when he was beginning to think of dinner there was a stir in the Cathedral itself, and a procession appeared from the great west door. Like the rest of the crowd, he uncovered and went down on one knee when he saw thurifers and a canopy emerge; it might be no more than some bishop going in state to pay a visit, but it might be the Blessed Sacrament; actually it turned out to be the Holy Lance, borne in procession from the High Altar to the Provençal camp. The Count of Toulouse was not going to miss the opportunity of reminding the army at large that he was the guardian of this holy relic. It was also a hint that those who stayed behind might lose the spiritual benefits offered by the Church to all true pilgrims. Doubtless there were various holy men and sacred objects in the procession, whatever might be the truth about the Lance, and Roger remained kneeling until it was out of sight round the corner of the street; though a few Italians in the crowd stood up and turned their backs, to show their contempt for the Count of Toulouse and anything that he might choose to call a holy relic. These Italians were only too willing to start a fight and give the Prince an excuse to clear the town of all who would not follow him; but no one believed so wholly in the Lance as to resent this lack of respect, and the rest of the crowd did nothing more than scowl. However, there might be trouble later on, and Roger, who was completely unarmed, thought it would be wise to go and look for an eating-house.

  There were many of these in the lower town, for troops always think that what they buy is better than the rations issued to them, and most pilgrims still had money left from their plunder. Provençals and Italians avoided one another by mutual consent, and Roger, as a neutral, did not wish to find himself wholly surrounded by either; but in the end he discovered a sausage-shop kept by a Rhinelander from Coblentz, and patronized chiefly by Lotharingians. Since he had no wish to quarrel with
anyone he was glad to be among people whose language he did not understand, and ordered what he wanted by pointing at dishes on the counter.

  When he had finished eating he continued to sit there, musing drowsily over a pitcher of wine. The Count of Toulouse was due to leave in six days’ time, and the Duke of Normandy, though he liked to put off decisions as long as possible, must make up his mind before then. Yesterday it had been pretty certain that he would go home, but already the temper of the whole army seemed to be growing more warlike and his foot might insist on continuing the campaign. For his own good name, Duke Robert might stay and lead his followers where they wished to go. In that case there would be no chance of getting a fief from Prince Bohemund. How strong was the obligation on a husband to provide for his wife, and how did it compare with the duties of the pilgrimage? All he could decide was that it would have been very much easier if he had remained a bachelor. He drifted into a vague reverie, seeing himself as a penniless knight-errant, fighting the infidel every day, and welcomed without question in rich and comfortable castles every evening; that was a better life than serving Bohemund as a soldier or worse, to satisfy the pride of a silly woman.

  He came to himself with a start, for a messenger had put his head in the doorway, shouting something in German, and now all the Lotharingians were cheering and singing, and beating on the tables with their cups. He got up and walked over to a well-dressed young knight, who looked the sort of gentleman who must be able to speak French, though now he was babbling in German. The knight was eager to enlighten him, and explained the news in a barbarous Brabançon French. It was exciting enough; Duke Godfrey of Lower Lotharingia had decided to march with the Count of Toulouse, and all his men would follow him.

  When this had been confirmed by a Latin-speaking clerk Roger decided to go straight home and tell Anne. The whole situation was altered. Duke Godfrey had a high reputation in the pilgrimage; his title was grander than his rather meagre possessions, for Lotharingia was a much-divided duchy, but he was known to have sold or mortgaged all his lands at home to equip his contingent; he had started on the Feast of the Assumption, the 15th of August 1096, the day appointed by the Council of Clermont, when many leaders bad hung back to see what success the expedition might have; he had successfully negotiated his way by land through Hungary and Illyricum, without shedding the blood of fellow-Christians more than was absolutely necessary; and had played an honourable and prominent part in the discussions with the Greek Emperor about the release of the Count of Vermandois and the taking of the oath of allegiance; he was known to lead a good and Christian private life, better than any other leader, and he was single-minded to fight the infidel, without more thought for his own advantage than was fitting for a lord of many poor and hungry vassals. His adhesion to the Count of Toulouse would make an enormous difference. If the Duke of Normandy had made up his mind, he would have to do it all over again in these new circumstances.

  In his excitement at the news Roger had forgotten that he was on bad terms with his wife, and he surprised Anne when he came in by embracing her heartily. Stuttering in his enthusiasm, he poured out the whole story, but she was not particularly impressed.

  “Surely, my dear lord, we went into all this yesterday. You have a right to chastise me, and I don’t want to provoke you again, but I hope you are not preparing to break your oath to your Duke so as to follow the Count of Toulouse. If your duty as a loyal servant prevents you from joining the Prince of Antioch, who would reward you well, it must also forbid you to leave your lord to go and sack Jerusalem.”

  Roger was abashed by her calmness, and did not like to be reminded that he had punished her last night.

  “Dear Anne,” he said, smiling as politely as though they were not married. “Can’t you see this alters everything? If the Duke of Lotharingia marches south he must become the leader, and the Count of Toulouse will fall into the background, with his convenient illnesses that keep him from the battlefield. No knight could ever be reproached for following Duke Godfrey against the infidel; it is quite a different thing from being led by that old nanny-goat Raymond de Saint Gilles. In fact, I shall march to Jerusalem whatever my lord does; if he goes I shall follow him, if he returns home I shall be free to follow Duke Godfrey.”

  “Very well, my lord, it is for you to decide. I am sorry that we have no chance of a castle for ourselves, but we shall still be fighting the infidel, and doing our duty as pilgrims.”

  Anne spoke quietly, with a smile of resignation. Roger felt more kindly towards her. When it came to the point she was willing to face her duty as a pilgrim, even though in conversation she still hankered after a life of brigandage in a castle.

  They made a good supper, for Anne was clever at managing the kitchen. Afterwards, to show that they were friends again, she sat at his feet and sang love-songs in the langue d’Oc, while he threaded new thongs into his mail. All the proverbs were right; it was wonderful how a beating improved a woman’s behaviour.

  Quite late in the evening there was a knock at the door, and Robert de Santa Fosca came in so close behind the servant that Roger could not say he did not feel like talking with him. Anne was singing a sad little song about a lover who was killed because a husband stayed unexpectedly at home, and her voice was unusually loud; in fact it must have been audible outside the hut. Robert greeted the lady first, as good manners demanded.

  “Good evening, Domna. I knew you were in, for I heard your voice, but I really came to see Messer Roger.” He was very smartly dressed, Roger noticed, but then he generally was.

  “Good evening, cousin Robert,” he said. “Do you wish to speak to me in private?”

  “Oh no; there is nothing I can’t say in front of Domna Anne. I only came to discuss the latest news, and to learn what you had decided to do.”

  “I told my wife earlier this evening, and it is more or less settled. If my Duke goes to Jerusalem I shall follow him; if he goes home I shall be free, and then I shall take service with Duke Godfrey, and go south as his man.”

  “What about my lord, Prince Bohemund?” said Robert. “After all, he counts for something in this affair. The best warrior in the army, and leader of at least the second-best contingent. And yet as soon as he advises us to stop here, you all make plans to advance. I thought you were on our side, cousin. This is a very sudden change you have made.”

  “The circumstances have entirely altered,” Roger answered firmly. “When it was a quarrel between Count Raymond and the Prince I was all for staying; as you say, he is the better warrior, and I don’t want to follow a Provençal. But the Duke of Lower Lotharingia is also a very brave and skilful warrior, of the blood of Charlemagne, and he will obviously command the expedition. Why doesn’t the Prince come along too?”

  “That is out of the question,” said Robert, frowning, and looking towards Anne. “Antioch is a very great prize, and if we don’t hold it for the pilgrims that low and double-dealing Greek Emperor will snatch it back from us. Do you think it is fair to desert us now? The Count of Toulouse is quite capable of making a pounce at the walls, when his men are gathered under arms prepared to march out. I really came to ask if you would arm yourself and help to garrison a tower on the day he is supposed to leave. I never guessed you would be under the Provençal banner. There is land to be had for the asking. That silly young hot-head Count Tancred, who has managed to lose most of Cilicia to the Greeks and Armenians, has made up his mind to march south with the holy knight-errants, and a number of our more foolish knights are going with him.”

  “Will you forgive me if I speak, dear Roger?” said Anne humbly, so humbly that Robert raised his eyebrows.

  “Of course, dear wife,” Roger answered quickly. A husband was entitled to beat his wife, but it was not a particularly heroic action; it was better for strangers, even his cousin, to think that he could subdue her by the force of his personality alone.

  “Well then,” she went on, “couldn’t you look at it this way? The Provençals and the
Lotharirigians are quite right to march. I am not objecting to that at all. But are you bound to go with them? Here is the Prince of Antioch definitely offering you a fief, which you will have to defend against the infidel; surely that is in accordance with the terms of the pilgrimage? The Duke of Lotharingia is landless, and so are most of his followers; if they take Jerusalem there may not be enough land to go round, and when Duke Robert goes home you can be sure that a Norman of Normandy will be one of the last to be rewarded. Take what is offered you; you have been fighting for more than two years, and you deserve your pay now.”

  “That is no good,” Roger answered sharply. “You know that my oath to the Duke forbids anything of the sort. I’m sorry, cousin, but you will have to hold Antioch without me.”

  “There is a way round this,” said Robert, speaking slowly, and trying to choose his words with care. “You need not openly leave your Duke’s banneer. When the army marches you could be sick and unable to ride; God knows the Count of Toulouse has played that game often enough. Just stay behind for a few months, and quietly join the garrison of the city. These things can always be arranged without an open break, if you take your time. I shall tell the Prince what you intend to do, and see that he keeps a fief for you.”

  This last proposal seemed to Roger a very dirty trick indeed; he was tired of this endless badgering, and his reply was shouted:

  “Really, for the last time, I will neither break my oath nor evade it by pretending to be sick. If you go on like this, cousin, I shall think you are not worthy of knighthood. You must have picked up those ideas from your mother’s side of the family.”