Pilgrim's War

by Michael Jecks

  Roger bowed to his father. There was a thrilling in his blood: he would be knighted! A warrior in his own right at last! And then away from this boring, wet landscape, off to find excitement and adventure!

  His father eyed him sourly. ‘You will return here with a fresh outlook on the world, and perhaps the size of your position in it.’

  Sens, Friday 4th April

  Guillemette was pulling on her chemise again as her latest client walked from the room. Last evening she had been kept busy until the early hours, and she had remained in her bed till late this morning, until the first client arrived at almost noon. Now it was time for food, her belly was telling her.

  She had a cup beside her cot, and she filled it from the jug of wine she kept handy. Some days, it was the wine that kept her sane. The older, rougher men who came in stinking like ferrets, with hands as coarse as unsmoothed floorboards, were enough to drive any woman to wine, she thought. She was considering a second cup when the door opened, and she saw Jeanne.

  ‘Hello, Jeanne, I . . . God’s mercy, what happened?’

  Jeanne walked in unsteadily. Her face was bruised and scratched. There were tooth marks on her throat, and she shook like a fine birch in a gale.

  ‘Jeanne, come in and sit down,’ Guillemette said, pushing aside the dirtier sheets. Guillemette sat on the edge of the cot and patted the mattress beside her. When Jeanne sat, Guillemette put her arm about the slim shoulders. ‘What happened? Were you attacked?’

  ‘My . . . my husband did this. He slapped and beat me, and kicked me when I was on the floor, and he made me . . . he made me lie with his friends . . . he shared me with them like a barrel of ale,’ Jeanne said. Her voice was low and calm, even as her body shuddered.

  ‘He sold you to them?’ Guillemette said coldly.

  ‘I went home to fetch some clothes, but he was waiting, and he . . . he did this.’

  Guillemette felt her chest constrict with rage. It was almost difficult to breathe, she was so angry. ‘You wait here,’ she said, and hurried from the room to fetch Emersende. She was soon back, with the madam of the brothel and Christoph.

  ‘Look at her!’ Guillemette said, flinging a hand at Jeanne. ‘You can see what he’s done to her.’

  ‘What happened, Jeanne?’

  Jeanne, her eyes downcast, spoke haltingly about her return to her home, how Edmond had grabbed her and beat her, and then passed her to his friends. ‘They all took me,’ she said, ‘and then Edmond grabbed their money and left me there.’

  ‘He swore to me that he would not misuse you,’ Emersende said. ‘I cannot believe that he did this to you.’

  Guillemette nodded. ‘To do this to her, it’s shameful.’

  ‘I’m surprised you went back against my advice,’ Emersende said. ‘You did say you would stay here.’

  Guillemette, listening while she tried to calm Jeanne, heard a new note in her voice. She turned to peer up at the madam.

  ‘I had to fetch a fresh chemise and . . .’ Jeanne whispered.

  Emersende shook her head with finality. There was no cruelty in her face, only a cool disinterest, like a woman deciding not to buy when a vendor would not drop his price to accommodate her. ‘Well, clearly I cannot use you like this,’ Emersende said. ‘You must go home again, and don’t come back until the worst of your injuries are healed.’

  ‘Wait!’ Guillemette said. ‘But surely you don’t mean to desert her? Emersende, she needs help, a place to stay where she will be safe—’

  ‘I am not here to provide alms for women with bad husbands,’ Emersende said with finality. ‘If her husband is to do this to her, she’s no use to me. If he wants to make money from her without my help, then he can have her back. It will be an expensive mistake on his part.’

  ‘You won’t help her?’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Guillemette,’ Emersende said. ‘Now get back to work. There must be a desperate man out there somewhere. Go and find him. Christoph, send her home.’

  She withdrew from the room humming a tune, and as if for the first time Guillemette saw her as she really was. Although she could put on a kindly act when it suited her, she was yet a businesswoman. Her interest lay only in how much money she could win from her clients, and that meant the value of her stable of women.

  Guillemette stopped Christoph. Jeanne looked as though she could not fully comprehend Emersende’s dismissal. She was stunned, and barely aware of her friend even when Guillemette took her hands in her own. ‘Jeanne, did you fetch your things from your house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there anything you need there? Really need?’

  ‘No . . . Guillemette, I don’t want to go back there. I can’t! I can’t live with him any more.’

  ‘You won’t, Jeanne,’ Guillemette promised. ‘You’ll never have to go back.’

  BOOK TWO

  The Grand Pilgrimage

  CHAPTER 4

  Sens, Friday 4th April, 1096

  Guillemette hefted the pack over her shoulder as the two trudged eastwards. She was sorry to be leaving Sens, for the town had been good to her over the years, but that could not change her feelings towards Emersende. Her casual dismissal of Jeanne at the time Jeanne needed her help most had shocked Guillemette. Emersende owed Jeanne protection. That was the job of the madam of the house, to protect her girls.

  ‘You didn’t have to come with me,’ Jeanne said.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Guillemette said. ‘It wasn’t only for you. I couldn’t trust her again, if she could throw you back to Edmond after this.’

  Jeanne sobbed quietly and Guillemette threw an arm over her shoulder. ‘Come, now! We can find another brothel. With my skills and your looks,’ she added, throwing a doubtful look at the bruised and battered face beside her, ‘we shall surely find work soon.’

  They had been walking for hours, and the roadway was hard on Guillemette’s feet. The soles of her shoes were thin, designed for walking about town rather than heavy work. Jeanne was very quiet, and Guillemette continued prattling – in part to keep her friend’s spirits up, but also to buoy her own. For all her cheering comments, she knew it would be difficult to find a safe berth. Most brothels were tough, difficult environments. Finding a place run by an accommodating madam was not easy. All too often they were controlled by brutish men who had no more interest in their women than a farmer for his cattle. Whores were there to bring in money, and as soon as they ceased to do so, their livelihood could be taken away from them. Still, she had heard that there was a place in Troyes, two days’ walk to the east, and she would bend her way there in the hope that she and Jeanne could be secure.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ she said.

  Jeanne sniffled and nodded. ‘I couldn’t go back to him,’ she said. She was limping a little, and not only from the rapes. Guillemette would have to take a look at her back and flanks and see the bruising. She wondered whether Jeanne’s injuries could be worse than she let on.

  ‘Of course not. You won’t have to. We’ll find another home, don’t worry.’

  They had encountered a few men and women on their way, but now they found a thick straggle of people overtaking them, all cheerful and excited as they marched. At their head was a preacher who strode along like a bailiff in search of a peasant’s tax. He turned and peered at them, noting their dress and comportment. ‘Are you joining with us?’

  Guillemette glanced at the people behind him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Have you not heard Peter the Hermit? He has spoken to us, and we obey his call to go to Jerusalem and liberate the people there.’

  ‘Yes, we heard him,’ Guillemette said.

  ‘Your friend. Has she been attacked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A brigand? Or . . .’

  ‘Her husband. He beat her like a dog, and then did the worst thing a man could do to his wife.’

  The man gave a nod of polite incomprehension, and smiled. His look irritated Guillemette, as though the inju
ries to a woman like Jeanne were not deserving of sympathy. She said, ‘He sold her to his friends. They took their sport with her.’

  At that, the preacher gasped, visibly shocked. It was more satisfying to Guillemette than his earlier complacency. He shook his head and made the sign of the cross over her. ‘That is appalling. A disgrace! Madame, did you not inform your priest? Your husband should be punished for such an act! I am sorry to hear of your victimisation.’

  ‘I live, Father,’ Jeanne said. Her head was downcast.

  Guillemette was glad to see how the priest was affected. He shook his head. ‘He should be made to realise his failings. Where is he?’

  The man was gazing about as though expecting to see Edmond in the trees nearby.

  ‘He is back at their home,’ Guillemette said.

  ‘You have left him?’

  ‘Yes! I have left him,’ Jeanne cried, and there was a fractured note in her voice, as though her very sanity was threatened.

  Guillemette heard the break and put her arm about her again, just as the tears began once more. ‘We will walk with you a way, if you don’t mind, Father,’ she said.

  ‘You can stay with us for as long as you wish, child. Even if you wish to walk with us all the way to Jerusalem itself.’

  ‘The Holy City?’ Jeanne said. ‘God would not want such as us to go there.’

  ‘For your sins?’ the man said, and smiled. ‘We are all sinners, child, but if you go to Jerusalem you will find your offences washed away. You will be innocent once more, like a newborn babe. The Pope has promised it. We are a part of his army, marching under the banner of Peter the Hermit, God bless him!’

  ‘God wouldn’t want us,’ Jeanne said sadly.

  Cerisiers, Saturday 5th April

  Gidie pulled at the reins of Amé. His donkey stared back truculently. Gidie considered using his birch to beat the recalcitrant beast, but he knew from experience that the creature would grow more stubborn if he did. He should have reached home by now, and be sitting down with a cup of ale. Instead he was here, stuck on a grassy roadway at least two leagues from his cottage.

  He slumped to the ground and stared resentfully up at the beast. ‘Well, Amé? What do we do now? Wait here until the Day of Judgement?’

  The beast shook her head free of flies and settled to cropping the grass of the verge. Gidie gave a ‘Tchah!’ of disgust, flung the reins away from him and leaned back against the grassy bank. ‘I’ll sell you to the tanners, you useless old devil,’ he muttered.

  He was still there a few moments later when a man appeared in the distance. There was a small party of men and some women following on behind him, and Gidie peered at them, but he knew none of them. He had never visited the brothel where Guillemette and Jeanne worked. The man in front walked barefoot, and wore the melancholy demeanour that marked him as a religious man.

  Seeing Gidie, he smiled. ‘Are you well, my friend?’

  ‘I would be happier if this brute would move.’

  The preacher looked at Amé and patted her head. For a moment Gidie thought she would bite his hand, but then she lowered her head as the man scratched her between her eyes and behind her ears. ‘She is a handsome animal. We have need of such as her. And you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Gidie said, but he could make a guess.

  ‘We are pilgrims. We go to free the people of Jerusalem,’ the preacher said, and launched into a well-rehearsed peroration about the benefits of the pilgrimage. ‘Have you not considered joining us?’

  ‘Jerusalem?’ Gidie said scornfully. ‘I can’t walk that far.’

  ‘God will give you strength. It is His desire that we should all go to Jerusalem and free our poor brothers and sisters in Christ.’

  This was God tormenting him. Gidie shook his head. ‘I am not the sort of man God would want.’

  ‘My son, He wants all those who are prepared to make the journey. The Pope himself called for all those who could go to join in. We need all the Christians we can find.’

  Gidie shook his head. The preacher could argue all he wanted, but the man would not want his company, if he were to learn more about Gidie and his offences. They were sins; he knew that, but he could not regret them, no matter what.

  The preacher shook his head sadly and made the sign of the cross over him, before setting off along the road. Gidie was about to haul on the reins when Amé began to follow the pilgrims.

  ‘You see, my friend?’ the preacher called with delight. ‘God has shown you He wants you and your beast to join us.’

  ‘Amé won’t want to walk all that way,’ Gidie said. ‘But I am glad that our path goes with yours for a way.’

  But when they reached the parting of their ways, Amé refused to take the road homewards, and instead pulled Gidie on behind the preacher.

  The sun was already low in the sky, and at this rate Gidie would not reach home until dark. Seeing his distress, the preacher called a general halt and walked back to Gidie.

  ‘My friend, you are disconsolate. Tell me, do you have a wife who will miss you?’

  ‘No, but I—’

  ‘You said that you are not the sort of man God would want to go to Jerusalem. Would you like to share your crime with me?’

  Gidie’s face darkened. ‘What makes you think I’ve—’

  ‘Why else would you think yourself unfit?’

  Gidie looked down. ‘I know I’m unfit. If you must know, and want me to divulge my crime, you have to swear to hold my confession in confidence.’

  ‘I so swear.’

  ‘Very well. You must know, then, that I was once in the priesthood. I was given a chapel in a small village, and I was content.’ Gidie could remember those happy times now in his mind’s eye: tending his small garden; speaking with his little flock in the tavern or at the church’s gate; fresh births and baptisms; young brides so bright and optimistic, grooms the worse for the cider or wines they had drunk; funeral services with sad-eyed men and women comforted by his words. The annual round of ploughing, planting and harvesting, each important, purposeful tasks that lent meaning to the life of the village.

  But it was Amice who made his life worth living. Amice, his wife, his lover – his sin. Gidie could not find the words to unburden himself.

  ‘I left my chapel. That is all you need to know.’

  ‘In Jerusalem you will find peace. God promises you eternal life, the remission of all your sins, if you only do this one thing for him.’

  Gidie looked at him. The certainty in his voice rang firm and true, like the honest truth of a cathedral bell. Perhaps the man was right. Gidie had nothing to hold him here now. Perhaps . . .

  Troyes, Monday 7th April

  ‘Do you think he could be right?’ Jeanne said.

  They had been with the pilgrims for three days now, and at last the city of Troyes was before them. Every so often, through the trees lining the roadway, the dark smudge of a city’s smoke appeared in the sky. It was all Guillemette cared about, this idea of a city. It held the promise of wine, a river to soak her feet, a fire before which to rest her aches and pains.

  As they walked, the pilgrims accreted more and more people. It was like fine droplets of water on a metal bowl. First there were many tiny ones, but these gradually touched others and grew and grew, until there was a smaller number of large drops, and these joined until there was a single great pool.

  Men and women heard of the approach of the pilgrims, and came to meet them. As they passed through a village, the preacher would speak and people would join them; as they walked beside a field, workers would drop their tools and become part of the growing column.

  Guillemette found that the constant tramping dulled her senses. She was moving along with a roll in the hips like an ancient peasant, her eyes fixed on the distant bend in the road. It would be only another few paces to that corner, she was thinking, and then there will be another straight section of roadway to the next corner, and then another . . .

  She grew aware that
Jeanne was speaking and listened, but without comment.

  ‘Perhaps Edmond was right to think I should go back to him. He was always so loving to me in the beginning.’

  Guillemette had heard it all before. Jeanne had told her soon after arriving that her husband had been a kind, generous man until the day they needed money and he suggested that she offer herself to others for money. At first, Jeanne thought he was joking, she said, but then he began his persuasion with his fists and she learned swiftly that there was nothing humorous in his proposal. It was a story that Guillemette had heard before, not only from Jeanne, but from other women trapped in marriages with men who were more keen on ensuring the steady flow of wine to their mouths than the wellbeing of the women they had married. All too many of her friends had told the same story.

  It reminded Guillemette how lucky she was. She had been married, once, and would never submit to a man again. He had been another Edmond, just as vicious. Paul had enjoyed hitting Guillemette whenever he was drunk. So one day, Guillemette had done what she should have done long before. She took a knife, and now Paul would never hit another woman again and Guillemette was free. She could enjoy what remained of her life.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Jeanne mumbled. ‘I should be with my husband.’

  This was the first stage. Guillemette had seen so many women in the brothels of Sens and she recognised the signs. ‘Jeanne, don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  Guillemette pulled her from the column of pilgrims and dropped her bag. She put her hands on Jeanne’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. ‘You can’t go back, Jeanne. You’re feeling miserable and scared because you’ve left everything behind, but it will get better. If you go back, he will beat you again, and he’ll sell you to his friends again, and he’ll keep you for as long as you can win him money, but as soon as you’re too old, or too scarred from his beatings, he’ll beat you one last time, and that time you won’t get up again.’

  ‘But I don’t know where I’ll go,’ Jeanne whispered.

  ‘Nor do I, Jeanne. But wherever we go, it’s better than going back. I know. I’ve been in the same position as you, I know what it’s like. Everything ahead is scary, whereas if you turn around and go back to him, at least you know what you’re in for. But you can’t. If you go back, you’ll get the biggest beating of your life, and he may kill you, if he’s drunk. I know the road ahead looks terrifying, but the road behind you is worse.’