Lord Geoffrey's Fancy

by Alfred Duggan

  During the winter the strong walls of Nicies had been strengthened, so that the Italian traders settled in the place could hold it against anything less than a formal siege with stone-throwers and Greek Fire. Everyone said this was an improvement, but it did not seem so to me. The Franks of Romaniewere now on the defensive, clinging to their remaining towns as the Crusaders cling to Acre; when first I came to these parts everyone was discussing the approaching conquest of Salonique.

  When the Grifons marched out from Mistra we did not even stand to meet them. The Prince rode out to take a look at their army, and gave orders that we must retire. But the burgesses manned their wall and the Grifons marched by without stopping to besiege it, so Nicies remained Frankish.

  For three weeks we retreated before the invaders, a most depressing and miserable opening to a campaign. We were eager to charge the foe, whatever the odds; at Brenice that had worked, and this year it might work again. But the Prince was determined; he said the Grifons were too strong to be beaten, and that the loss of a pitched battle would be the end of Lamorie. Help might come from the west, where both Pope Urban and King Manfred were friendly to us; help might come from Satines, though the Duke was plagued by raids from Wallachia and from the sea. If no help came we must grin and bear it; for if a Grifon army should chase us we could not stop running this side of Italy.

  Perhaps the enemy feared ambush in country which no Grifon soldier had penetrated for more than fifty years. They had maps, of course, because Grifons always use maps; but these would not show the castles and bridges built by the Franks. For whatever reason, they repeated exactly the invasion of last year, as though there were only one road into Lamorie. From the upper Charbon they marched past Carytena and so down the gorge to their old camp at Brenice. This time they did not scatter to plunder the villages, where there was very little left worth stealing; and I had no fears for the safety of Melisande and the children, guarded in Carytena by Sir John de Catabas and a strong garrison of veterans.

  From Brenice the enemy pressed on northward towards Andre-ville, as far as a desolate nameless upland where stood a little chapel dedicated to St. Nicholas. All this time we had kept in touch with them, marching as a rule a few miles to the eastward. There had been a few pointless skirmishes, and our presence made it difficult for small parties of Turks to plunder off the line of march; but the Prince would not permit us to attack.

  That kind of patrolling without fighting is very trying to the temper. Our knights disliked it intensely, and some of them threatened to charge without orders; until the Prince was driven to explain to all his followers his reasons for hanging back. He put up Sir Ancelin de Toucy to do the talking, since he was well known to be an expert on Turkish warfare. Sir Ancelin explained that the Grifons were trying to lure us into a trap, tempting us to charge against mounted bowmen. If we attacked, the Grifon foot would hold us up long enough for our horses to be shot by Turks lurking in the background. Therefore we must keep our distance. It all sounded most logical and convincing, but at the same time depressing. If the Grifons could ride through our land secure from attack then we ought to call off the war and offer tribute to the Emperor; unless we gave up altogether and went home to the west.

  However, when the invaders reached the little chapel of St. Nicholas they were getting very near Andreville, and it was agreed that we must do something. Then it became clear that though the Prince wanted to do something he did not know what to do. There is really no answer to Turks, except to sit behind a stone wall and wait for them to go away. If the Turks live so near that they can easily come back, presently the open country goes out of cultivation and the castle-dwellers must retire for lack of food; that is why the frontier of the Grifons in Asia retreats year by year. If the Turks were to settle in Mistra the whole of Lamorie would become desert, growing no harvests to support western knights.

  All Prince William could suggest was that we should ride in full battle array right up to the Grifon army, and then halt just out of arrow range. While we were so close they would not dare to detach foragers, or batter the walls of Andreville; eventually they would eat up their supplies and go back to Mistra for more.

  It was impressed on us most earnestly that we must obey the trumpet, not charging unless the Prince gave the signal. This was a new venture, not very promising and deadly if it should go wrong. But it was our only hope of persuading the invaders to leave the fields of Lamorie. As I mounted Sylvia I felt very gloomy. But at least we would have a close look at the enemy, instead of inspecting burned farms and murdered peasants after they had passed; it was not very encouraging, but it would break the monotony.

  Then God helped us when least we expected it; as sometimes He will help single-minded Crusaders who march stoutly against infidels and schismatics.

  In line we rode over a low ridge, lances couched and our leaders faceless under their great helms. Less than three hundred yards away the Grifons awaited us; in front a dense mass of foot, the light horse in the rear, on the flanks Turkish horse-bowmen. Even I could see the trap. It looked so dangerous that when the trumpet sounded for us to halt we obeyed willingly.

  When the Grifons saw us they waved their weapons, cheering and shouting what I suppose were insults. Then their foot moved about restlessly, going through the motions of an advance without actually getting any nearer. On the wings the Turks withdrew slightly; but Turkish ponies are swift and handy, and we knew that if we came forward they could close the range in an instant.

  It was an undignified exchange: two angry armies shouting insults and defiance at one another like small boys who want to be able to tell mother afterwards that the other fellow began it. Suddenly Sir Ancelin saw the ridiculous side of it, and began to laugh boomingly through his helm.

  He was in the centre of the line, some way to my right. But I recognised the sound, unusual on a battlefield. Soon the laughter spread; for really it was very absurd that grown men should come armed and in mail to such a childish slanging match. Presently some hundreds of Frankish knights were sitting their horses in line, laughing their heads off at a crowd of angry Grifons.

  The Grifons could not see the funny side of it. Although they had ravaged our land, bringing infidel Turks to help them plunder the Christian peasants, they saw themselves as gallant defenders of their schismatic church, venturing nobly to thrust back an enemy who had occupied the birthright of their Emperor. They were heroes, and proud of it. Their foot shouted more rudely than before, but they were still forbidden to advance. Their leader was the first man on the field to lose his self-control.

  A single horseman spurred out from their array, as sometimes in the west a champion will challenge an army. His horse was a magnificent strawberry roan, with the neat head, flowing tail, and clean legs of a Saracen racer. The rider wore an open helm, gilded under a tall crest of horsehair and ostrich feathers; his corselet was of overlapping scales, burnished until they flashed in the sun; on his thighs were hose of scarlet silk, but from knee to toe his legs were protected by gilded greaves, each fashioned from a single plate of steel; his rectangular shield bore only the double-headed eagle, for Grifons seldom display personal arms; a long sword in a scabbard of scarlet leather hung from his saddle-bow, and in his hands he carried a massive steel mace. He was evidently an officer of high rank, and the whisper ran down our line that this was Cantacuzene, the fighting commander of the hostile army. On that day I never saw the Sebastocrator, and I suppose he was posted well to the rear.

  Cantacuzene knew a little bad French, including the obscenities which are the first words a foreigner picks up in any language. He shouted that we were cowards who dared not defend the ill-gotten gains won by our brigand fathers; and other insults less relevant to the situation, referring rather to our behaviour in bed than on the battlefield. At the same time he made his horse curvet and prance on his hind legs, while he himself brandished his mace.

  If he had really been challenging to single combat any champion of Lamorie we would h
ave respected him, even though his challenge was phrased in unknightly terms. But we knew that any knight who charged him would have his destrier shot full of Turkish arrows before he could break his lance on that unscarred double eagle. Cantacuzene was acting as bait for his own trap, and losing his dignity as he did it. We laughed all the more, as at a tumbler after dinner. When he shouted out a catchphrase in French whose double meaning was surely unknown to him someone threw a copper coin towards him.

  Cantacuzene could understand that insult, even if our French repartee was going over his head. Standing in his stirrups, he waved his mace over his head; at the same time he dug in his spurs. Then—it was really glorious and I still smile as I write it—his horse gave a great buck and the gallant champion of Constantinople shot clean over its head.

  Half a dozen Frankish trumpets pealed the Halt, but our whole line trotted towards the fallen hero. The Grifon foot also advanced in a disorderly mob, while the Turks drew their bows; but they dared not shoot, for fear of hitting their own ridiculous leader. It looked as though the Grifons would reach him first, until the Prince sent forward at full gallop a knight of his own mesnie, Sir Robert de Brienne. His lance pierced the fallen man just before the foot came up; then he turned his destrier very neatly and got back safely to our own line.

  For a few minutes we skirmished with the Grifon spearmen; since we had advanced at a slow trot we could not bowl them over. But the real danger was that we had now entered the trap prepared for us; the Sebastocrator would not hesitate to order the Turks to shoot at his own foot, as once he had ordered other Turks to shoot at his German mercenaries. It seemed absurd that by falling off his horse Cantacuzene might bring victory to his followers. I felt very frightened, waiting for the first Turkish arrow. But Prince William also recognised our danger, and soon his trumpets were sounding the Retreat. We were very glad to fall back out of range.

  So there we were, back again where we had started; a line of Frankish knights facing a line of Grifon foot, and both sides too cautious to come to close quarters. Cantacuzene was dead, but the Grifons had recovered his body; so far as it went the skirmish might be considered a draw.

  But the Sebastocrator had lost his trusted captain, and if he renewed the battle he might have to lead his men in person. After half an hour of silent glaring, for both sides were now too angry to shout facetious insults, we heard a great to-do of trumpet calls and shouted orders. The Grifon foot marched off in good order, their light horse interposed to act as rearguard. The Turks straggled away in their usual sloppy fashion, which by seeming to invite a sudden charge has been fatal to many Frankish armies. After all no battle was fought beside the hilltop chapel of St. Nicholas. We watched the Grifons retire, and presently became aware that they were striking cainp.

  Next day they set off south and then east, retracing their march up the valley of the Charbon. A great invasion had ended in shameful fiasco just because the invaders had lost one famous warrior. Yet perhaps the Sebastocrator acted with prudence; perhaps Cantacuzene was the only man in his army willing to fight.

  Some of my readers may think there is something unknightly in treating as a joke the death of a brave man, killed honourably in his mail by the lance of a foe. All I can say in rejoinder is that the whole Frankish army thought it funny. Cantacuzene died a hero, and his descendants should honour his memory; but before that he had been bucked off his horse, and that is funny wherever it happens.

  Without his hero the Sebastocrator was at a loss. His great army of invasion marched right back to the frontier; and then sat down before the walls of Nicies only because that was the nearest of all the Frankish fortresses in Lamorie. The trouble was that even now, when our enemies were so obviously disheartened, Prince William dared not lead us against Turkish arrows. It seemed that we must sit on the hills, within sight of the siege, until the walls were breached and the Italian burgesses slaughtered.

  Then after a few days a change came over our camp. Suddenly everyone knew, without any public announcement, that secret negotiations had begun. Many of our knights had been bred in Romanie; and there were Grifon sergeants in our ranks, though more of them had deserted to serve with the enemy. Romanians, whether Grifon or Frank, can smell an intrigue in the wind, especially a treacherous intrigue. Something was up. That incompetent and cowardly Sebastocrator had lost the confidence of his men. The most popular form of the rumour suggested that the Grifons of Lamorie who had joined the imperial army were about to change sides in a body.

  That proved too good to be true. Instead, while Nicies still held out most gallantly, the army of the Sebastocrator divided; the Turks left the main body and rode off to Carytena. Melisande was there, and Turks never show mercy to women and children; but Turks are also notoriously incompetent at siege-craft, so I was not unduly worried. The enemy had split, and we ought to be strong enough to take on one half of them.

  I expected immediate battle, either before Carytena or before Nicies. But you must remember that a simple Norman of English birth can never keep up with the devious politics of Romanie. Prince William gave strict orders that the Turks must not be attacked.

  A few days later we were summoned to parade mounted and armed; but for a parliament, not for battle. I wore my best sur-coat; with the blazon of Briwerr worked in silk. It was as smart as anything in Lamorie, and I would never wear it where it might be cut about by enemy weapons.

  When we were assembled the Prince informed us that we were to receive envoys, and must greet them courteously even if we were surprised to see them. Sir Ancelin de Toucy would accompany the envoys and explain the proposed treaty, which was so important for the future of Lamorie that it must be ratified by the full homage.

  Sir Ancelin, unarmed, then rode into the midst of the assembly; on either side of him rode a Turk with drawn sword.

  A stir ran down our ranks, as knights wondered whether to attempt a rescue; Sir Ancelin seemed to be a prisoner. But the Turks could kill him before anyone could ride them down, and we quickly saw that this was a sensible business arrangement. Two Turks had ridden into a crowd of enemies, with Sir Aucelin as their hostage.

  When the Turks grinned cheerfully a few knights smiled back. Then Sir Ancelin addressed us.

  "Gentlemen, may I present to you two eminent noblemen, Malik and Salik. They are of high birth in their own land, and they command the Turkish band in the Grifon army. Now they want to try another paymaster. It isn't that they have any preference as between Frank and Grifon, but the Sebastocrator hasn't paid them since the opening of this campaign. So until the end of the season they will fight for us without pay, on condition we grant them the plunder of the Grifon camp. Next year either we pay them, or they go home unmolested. It seems to me a sensible arrangement, and Prince William approves. But it won't work unless the knights of Lamorie are willing to receive these Turks as comrades, and therefore I need your agreement also."

  "Are these people infidels, or merely heathen? Will they accept baptism?" called the constable of Patras, who led the Archbishop's mesnie and so felt himself to be the guardian of religion in our army.

  Sir Ancelin glanced at the Turks, speaking in a foreign tongue. He was his own interpreter; later I learned that in the old days when the Franks still ruled Constantinople he had commanded the Emperor's Turkish mercenaries.

  "These two lords are infidels," he reported, "and so are most of their followers. As you know, the servants of Mahound very seldom forsake their devil, and those who do are not to be trusted. No honourable infidel ever seeks baptism. But they have in their band some simple heathen, savages new come from the distant east; and these will gladly become Christian. What they want is a civilised religion, and they don't much mind which it is. Will that do?"

  "Then by employing this band we shall be winning souls for Christ," said the constable of Patras in a satisfied tone. "That gets round the religious difficulty. We are not leading infidels to war against Christians, we are converting the heathen. There can be no objection
."

  "But what pay do they demand? Have we the money? Will it mean an aid from all fees, in this year when we can hardly make ends meet? If we can't pay them what will they do? Will they desert us as they have deserted the Sebastocrator?" That was the Chancellor, old Sir Leonardo di Veroli.

  "They have lost their wages for this campaign, and they have resigned themselves to the loss," answered Sir Ancelin. "All they want from us is the plunder of the Grifon camp. They have promised that next year they will leave Lamorie for ever, except for those who agree to become Christian. They want to fight the Grifons because they dislike them, and because fighting is their trade. They don't expect to be paid for it this time."

  After that generous offer the parliament made no more objections. It was agreed unanimously that Malik and Salik should ride with us against the Grifons as trusted allies, not as mercenaries.

  As soon as they learned that the Turks had joined us the diminished Grifon army raised the siege of Nicies and retired towards Mistra. As they passed through La Cremonie they removed all the Grifon burgesses to a new town which was building below the great castle. That was the end of La Cremonie, which still lies desolate; a pity, for it had been a pleasant place, the first place where I felt myself to be at home in Romanie. But from the military point of view this step was encouraging, as showing that the Grifons were now on the defensive.

  The rest of the news was also encouraging, though it did not improve the military situation. The Sebastocrator had sailed from Malvoisie for Constantinople, ostensibly because the Emperor needed his services in the capital. He was still a great man among the Grifons, but I suppose they saw at last that he was unfit to command troops in the field. The army of Mistra was now to be led by two noblemen from Asia: Philes, who held the high rank of Grand Domestic, and one Macrinus. It was likely that it would be better led than in the past.