Crusade

by Linda Press Wulf

  Hugh the Iron continued, ‘The captains of the seven ships will be ordered to ready their ships immediately in order to transport you across the seas to your destination.’

  ‘Praise be to God,’ William the Pig added in a high-pitched voice.

  Patrice gave a little bounce at Georgette’s side. The Crusaders burst into exclamations but quickly quieted when Hugh the Iron waved his hands for order.

  ‘We cannot fit all of you on to the ships. We will try to carry as many of you as possible. If you are willing to eschew some comfort on your holy journey, I will be able to offer passage to a greater number.’

  ‘I must prepare my ships for this unexpected opportunity to serve God. Stay here at the quay if you wish to take this God-given chance. When we are ready, you may be among the lucky chosen children.’ Hugh the Iron strode from the harbour and William the Pig waddled off behind him.

  There was chaos. Each one longed fiercely to be chosen ahead of someone else. The atmosphere had changed to one of competition and rivalry. They squabbled over space to sit or lie on the long, narrow quay.

  Georgette was torn. She wanted to reach the Holy Land, even though the pilgrimage had been, so far, a journey of confusion, loss and fear. And this was surely a practical alternative to walking across the bed of the ocean. But when the captain was calling his offer a God-given opportunity, she had had the distinct, desolate sense that the presence of God was withdrawing.

  Surely God will rejoin us at the other side of the sea, she told herself. But it seemed a long time to wait.

  Patrice was in excellent spirits, chattering about going on a ship for the first time, travelling to foreign climes. The Crusaders ate, slept and defecated on the wharf, unwilling to leave for a more comfortable resting spot, in case they missed their chance to be chosen to go to Jerusalem.

  Their fourth day on the wharf was unseasonably hot from early in the morning. As the youngsters sprawled listlessly without shade or shelter, the two men marched back on to the quay with purposeful tread.

  ‘The ships are ready to sail,’ Hugh the Iron boomed from his raised position, pointing to seven large ships that had been moved closer to the quay the previous day. ‘Those who wish to take up our offer should form a line along the edge of the quay, and the good merchant William and I will make our selection.’

  Boys and girls raced to be near the front, pushing and shoving. A number of young ones were knocked to the ground by the stampede, and stood up weeping but nevertheless hurrying to secure a place. Patrice was agile and fast, and made it to the first hundred. Georgette was strangely reluctant to hurry, and stepped into line near the back.

  The sun beat down, and the water and mead provided to them by well-wishers was not sufficient. But few risked leaving the wharf to search for more. Some swayed where they stood.

  After some time, Georgette slipped up to the men moving slowly down the line, motioning certain Crusaders to proceed to the gangplanks of the seven ships, waving the others away dismissively.

  ‘Kind sirs,’ she said, ‘is there water for us? We are all thirsty, but the youngest children suffer the most.’

  Brusquely, barely looking at her, Hugh the Iron jerked his thumb towards the open square beyond the wharf.

  ‘There’s a well at the far end of that plaza. But mind you don’t disturb the line now. Those who give up their place might lose their chance to be selected.’

  Georgette would lose little by giving up her place near the back and going to drink while she could. She urged the smallest children to join her. Who knew if the ships would have enough water aboard for them to drink their fill? Some were too tired to join her but others trailed along to the well. A number of the older ones stepped out of the line and followed.

  Georgette and the older ones pulled up bucket after bucket until their shoulders ached. Georgette bade each person carry water in his or her clay mug or wooden bowl back to those still in the line.

  ‘Be careful not to spill,’ she warned. ‘And give first to the youngest.’

  When the mugs of cool water appeared, more Crusaders broke from the line and hurried to the plaza. Ragged gaps opened. Hugh the Iron glared at Georgette as she walked past him to take her place again.

  The sun had passed its midpoint by the time the men neared the back of the line. William the Pig was scrawling a stroke on a grubby piece of parchment to represent each child allowed on to the boats. As he reached Georgette, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his face with a dirty cloth. Then he laboriously counted up the strokes, crossing out each group when he reached one hundred.

  ‘Up to seven hundred now,’ he told Hugh the Iron. ‘That’s a hundred in each boat. If we squeeze them, we can fit another twenty-five on each boat, I’m sure.’

  They turned to face the line of children again and the seaman scowled at Georgette.

  ‘You’re the water-fetcher,’ he sneered.

  Georgette was silent.

  ‘Any older brothers or cousins with you?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Georgette answered. ‘I mean . . . no, sir.’

  With a wave of dismissal, Hugh the Iron said, ‘No room for troublemakers on the boat.’

  And he turned to the next in line.

  Robert had known from the early days, perhaps alone among all the Crusaders, that Prophet Stephen was a fake and a charlatan. Robert had never believed the seas would part for them, never believed they would finally reach Jerusalem. How dare the boy promise a miracle? The only miracle was that he had induced them all, yes, even Robert himself, to follow him. A liar and an actor, with the gift of persuasion as his dangerous weapon.

  But Robert felt no pleasure at the accuracy of his assessments. He ground his teeth and pumped his fist repeatedly into his other hand in fury at Stephen’s cowardly flight. The Crusaders were lost and in anguish, their faith at risk, their questions unanswered. And he, Robert, was too shy, too fearful of rebuff, to try to help.

  But then the two swaggering men appeared and conveniently offered free passage to Jerusalem. Their ships were impressive, equipped with the new sternpost rudders that a traveller had described shortly before Robert left the abbey at Blois. Even though he did not like the look of the merchant and the seaman at all, this was, for the very first time, a realistic opportunity, a credible chance to reach the Holy Land.

  Was it really possible that he would be able to see Jerusalem? He had so many painful questions about the Crusades, and the persecution along the way. Maybe they would be answered there in the birthplace of Jesus. He lined up with alacrity and declined to go to the well, in case he lost his place.

  ‘How old are you?’ Hugh the Iron asked when the boy’s turn came.

  ‘Fifteen,’ Robert answered, looking the man straight in the eye. He had heard several lying about their age but he would never stoop to lie in order to enter the land of God. That would be soiling the purity of the pilgrimage.

  William the Pig brought his quill to the parchment to draw a mark, but Hugh put out a hand to stop him and whispered something in his companion’s ear. The merchant peered shortsightedly into Robert’s face and Robert looked directly back. There was a hesitation. Then Hugh the Iron waved his arm to dismiss the boy and moved on to the next person in line.

  Robert stood still. Had he imagined it or had he been passed over? Why didn’t the men wave him towards the ships? Hugh the Iron glanced back and saw him still waiting. ‘Move along, boy,’ he growled. ‘You’re in our way.’ There was no doubt.

  Stunned, his mind whirling, Robert stepped away from the water and leaned against a wall.

  It was not long before the men selected their last passenger, dismissed those still waiting hopefully in line, and signalled for the gangplanks to be raised. The crews on each ship must have been prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. As soon as the anchors were lifted and the mooring ropes untied, lines of rowers plied their oars so that the seven vessels slipped out of the harbour with surprising speed. Within ten minutes, the young passenge
rs were out of sight. Hugh the Iron and William the Pig strode from the wharf.

  It was over.

  PART THREE

  A Very Different Journey

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Georgette waved her kerchief in the air wildly, long after Patrice and the others on the boats could possibly have discerned her on the wharf. But in her imagination, she could still see the lucky chosen ones singing lustily and excitedly on the rocking deck. She pictured Patrice, glorying in another adventure, and smiled. The boats followed each other in a line, a chain, and she felt connected with them until the last one was just a speck. Then the chain snapped. She was not part of the Children’s Crusade any longer. She would never reach the Promised Land.

  Instead, she was one of many hundreds of children standing without purpose or direction on the quayside. Suddenly, she missed Gregor fiercely. The others did not come from her village, would not know the way home, even if they wanted to help. And they were all preoccupied with their own worries. What was she to do now, alone in this big city? She could never make the long trip home without her brother, without the crowds of singing Crusaders, without the generous gifts of food and lodging provided by pious villagers along the way. Georgette slumped to the ground and sobbed.

  All for naught, all for naught. Robert’s adventure was over, with nothing to show for it, except churning questions about faith and the evil of man. Robert’s legs were aching, yet he would not sit down. That would be admitting that it was all for naught. The false prophet had deluded his flock and deserted them, but no earthly punishment would befall him. Only after his death would he be called to account. And now Robert was alone in a strange city, far from the abbey, his only home, where he felt he no longer belonged.

  No, not alone. Robert’s eyes widened as he saw a young girl waving a white cloth frantically at the departing boats. It was the girl who had revived his wilting faith with her perfect devotion to God when her brother took sick and died. It was the girl he could not bear to see violated by Stephen’s lust; the one he had dared to save. She too had been rejected. She too was alone in Marseilles. No, not alone.

  He watched as Georgette sat on the wharf and wept, longing to comfort her but hesitant. The new confidence he had felt as a leading member of the Crusade had fled and he was consumed with shyness. He took a deep breath, picked up his little sack and walked close to Georgette, sitting down silently behind her until she finished with her tears.

  When Georgette’s sobs quieted, she dried her swollen eyes with her apron. Most of the crowd had disappeared, gone she knew not where. The youngsters clustering in a few small groups around the harbour seemed as lost as she did, and none of them were familiar to her. Should she try to attach herself to one of the groups? She could not take the risk of being left alone on the road if the group split in different directions once they reached central France. What if the older boys thought they could take liberties with her in her distress and helplessness?

  She felt, rather than saw, the presence of someone directly behind her. She whirled around quickly and relaxed with a little sigh. It was the boy they called the Abbé.

  He approached. Bending a little, he said, ‘Good eve, mistress. May I sit beside you?’

  She wanted to giggle at the formality: was she a fine lady sitting on a velvet bench that he should talk so? But his politeness and respect were so sincere, without affectation or falsity, that she couldn’t hurt his feelings.

  ‘Yes, if you please,’ she responded.

  ‘Your name is Georgette,’ he stated and she looked at him with surprise. ‘I am Robert, of the Abbey of Blois,’ he offered. They sat side by side for a while. She stole a glance at his face below the hood and saw that he too was sombre and disappointed.

  ‘It feels hard not to be chosen,’ she ventured, and he nodded. For a long time they remained still on the dirty quayside.

  As dusk deepened, Georgette noticed that they were the only young people still on the wharf. Two drunken sailors swaggered past without seeing them in the shadows, and one stopped, faced a wall close to them, and pulled at his trousers. Georgette had time only to jerk her skirts away from the piss whooshing against the stones so near to her. Robert caught her arm, lifted her to her feet and guided her away from the harbour.

  ‘I saw a few taverns on the way through the town,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can find somewhere to sleep for the night and some hot food.’

  Georgette blinked. We? He was talking as though they had already decided to throw in their fates together. She opened her mouth to protest her ignorance of such an agreement, but closed it. There was great relief in having this quiet older boy at her side and she would not disturb his assumption until she had another and better solution.

  Too drained and shy to talk, they entered the first inn silently and waited to be noticed. The innkeeper took one look at their youthful faces and apparent lack of funds and told them roughly to be off: the inn was full and he would not tolerate beggars. Georgette blushed and quickly lifted the hem of her cape, about to dig for the bits of silver sewn in there when her father had urged them on her. Quickly, Robert put his hand on her arm again, with that respectful but firm grasp, and led her out of the door.

  ‘Do not reveal that you have a hiding place for coins,’ he warned. ‘Take them out here, in this alley, where no one will see.’ And he began to pick with a little knife at something stitched behind his own belt, which turned out to be a cloth knotted around coins. Georgette borrowed his knife and undid her own even little stitches, trustingly dropped her coins into the same pile as his, and counted the total along with him. At the next inn they entered, Robert showed a little of their money in his hand as he asked for lodging, and the innkeeper seemed regretful as he said he had more guests than straw pallets and could not even squeeze them into a room with other customers. He directed them to the third, and last, inn in the area of the harbour.

  Outside the entrance, Georgette whispered, ‘What will we do if they too are full?’

  Robert did not answer but appeared determined as he opened the thick door. They were met by the warmth and delicious smell of a huge fire licking eagerly at several chickens and a fatty lamb shank on a large spit. The juices dripped and sizzled on the willow-wood below. The woman turning the spit handed over her task to a sturdy child, mopped her brow and came towards them, her expression surprised but not unfriendly at the sight of two young, unaccompanied guests. She looked keenly at Robert as he requested shelter and food, counted the coins in his hand, and clucked at the sight of Georgette’s swollen, red eyes.

  ‘I have no rooms,’ she began, at which Georgette’s face must have fallen because the woman continued hurriedly, ‘but don’t ye worry, there is room enough for ye to lay down near the fire tonight after my good dinner. Ye will be warm there and if ye don’t mind the noise of those who might stay up late drinking, ye’ll sleep well and feel brighter in the morning.’

  She took some of the silver from Robert’s palm, closed his fingers around the other coins and bade him tuck them away safely, and led them to the broad slabs of stone before the fire, which she promised to soften with straw before they went to bed.

  The aromatic lamb shank turned out to be for the sole pleasure of two well-dressed men who entered in high spirits after all the other guests had dined on chicken. With many compliments, the innkeeper ushered these particular guests into a private alcove, warmed by its own small fire and shielded from curious eyes by a greasy curtain. The new arrivals did not notice the young boy and girl sitting on the hearthstones, but Robert and Georgette recognised the seafaring man and the merchant from the quayside. Hugh the Iron and William the Pig.

  Robert’s face reddened; Georgette’s lips trembled. They needed no reminder of the failure of the day.

  All the other guests had retired to bed by this time, and while the innkeeper fawned over the two men, Robert and Georgette settled down silently before the fire. The hearth was so long that they could lie with the top of their
heads pointing towards each other. The woman had provided a good amount of straw, and they both felt the dying embers warming them all the way along to their toes. Georgette yawned and heard Robert respond in kind.

  But the men in the alcove were becoming increasingly quarrelsome as they quaffed their beer, and soon their angry voices became loud enough to be clearly overheard.

  ‘I’ll not take that loss all on myself. I had my timber ready at the dock on time and paid good money to have it loaded on your ships. I paid more good money to have it unloaded to make room for those brats. Now what am I to do with my timber? It will be weeks until I can hire so many ships at one time again.’

  ‘Damn your timber, man,’ Hugh the Iron roared, his rough voice cutting across the merchant’s whine. ‘We’ll get triple the profit from the new cargo, maybe more.’

  ‘Yes, we both profit, but ’tis my money that is financing this voyage, including all the food I had to provide for those ragamuffins,’ William the Pig complained. ‘You know yourself that we picked the sturdiest, and those kind eat more, don’t they?’

  ‘And sell for more too.’

  The merchant merely grunted in response, so Hugh pressed his advantage.

  ‘Anyway, the way they’re squeezed on, I’m taking a greater risk of my boats being sunk before we can hand over the goods. Enough about your timber, merchant William, and pay the money you owe me.’

  William the Pig let loose a flood of oaths, but pushed back his chair in defeat.

  ‘Upstairs,’ he said. ‘We can count it out in private there.’

  Georgette was pressing her knuckles against her mouth to keep from screaming. Robert felt a rage so violent and painful that a groan escaped him. But the men stumbling from the room were far too drunk to notice.

  Silence.

  There could be no doubt. The men who claimed they were offering free passage as a service to God expected to make a profit on each child. The Crusaders who had marched singing on to those seven boats, the ones Georgette had thought so fortunate to be chosen, were going to be sold like pieces of timber.