by Simon Acland
Then I realised that the water had risen up beyond the mooring place on the bank. I had forgotten about the tide. My boat must have floated off. I cursed myself as a useless landsman as it dawned on me that I was stuck on the wrong side of the Horn. I had no alternative but to try the bridge when its gates opened in the morning. Freezing, miserable, hungry, for I had been unfed all day, I huddled down in a wretched heap to rest as best I could. I fingered the precious lock of Blanche’s hair which tickled inside my tunic. Was that all of her that was left? Was it all of her that I would ever touch? I urgently told myself that Peter had not actually witnessed the fate of de Boissy’s retinue. Perhaps she had survived; perhaps she had just been taken into captivity. Then I thought that maybe she would be better dead than enslaved, dishonoured, pressed into some Turk’s harem. I remembered the treatment given by Baldwin’s troops – yes, and Godfrey’s – to the poor women dragged back to camp. Eventually some sort of half-sleep took pity on me but its mercy did not last for long. Soon I was fully conscious again, woken by my own shivering. The cold gripping me both inside and out reached such depths that I stood and walked down to the edge of the bank. I looked into those Stygian waters. I imagined them closing over my head and bringing me relief. I think that I might have thrown myself in then, if I had not seen the first light of dawn touching the horizon bringing with it some sort of hope. Stiffly I turned and staggered off in the direction of the fortified bridge, scarcely bothered whether or not I was able to pass the guards there. What was there left to live for? The quick release of summary execution might be the best solution to my anguish.
Perhaps my indifference to my fate gave my manner confidence. Or perhaps the guards on the bridge were just sleepy and bored after a night of duty. Looking back on it, I suppose their orders were to prevent any Franks from crossing the bridge from north to south. None had done so. What reason would they have to suspect a Greek-speaking monk coming from the south? I span them the same story that had gained me access to the city, of a monk who had been nursed back to health at the monastery of Saint Cosmos and Damian, except that I was now returning to my cloister north of the Horn. The day before I had been delighted at the success of my artifice; now, when I found myself walking towards the suburb of Pera, my triumph seemed utterly hollow.
A few of the houses in Pera were built of stone, but more were of wood, poor in contrast to the magnificence of the city south of the Horn. The streets between them wound narrowly along the contours of the slope up from the water. Now, before it was fully light, they were empty and deserted, for there was little to occupy the troops in our idle stalemate with the Emperor and their routine had been allowed to slacken. I hurried towards the lodging I occupied with Godfrey and the rest of his retinue, in one of the grander stone buildings of the suburb, constructed recently by some rich merchant who had been unceremoniously ejected from his home to make room for the Duke. Then I saw another shape emerging quietly from a nearby house. I realised that this was the building occupied by Baldwin. Fearing detection, I pulled back quickly into the shadow of a doorway. The figure looked as anxious as I to avoid being seen. Its cloak was pulled up over its head, and it glanced furtively from side to side down the street. With mounting surprise, as it looked in my direction, I made out Godfrey’s blond-bearded features. What business could he have at such an early hour with his brother? Why would he be visiting and leaving again in secrecy? Then the realisation broke upon me that Godfrey must have been with a different relative, not one of blood, but one of marriage – Godehilde. Temporarily all my own troubles and sorrows were wiped away by my master’s brazen impunity. My shock mixed with something close to admiration – even jealousy – that the Duke could be so bold as to cuckold his dangerous brother under his own roof.
When Godfrey had satisfied himself that the coast was clear, he strode out briskly. He scarcely bothered to keep to the shadows at the side of the alleyway, and again I felt something akin to reverence for his audacity. My admiration melted away quickly when I saw a different form darkwrapped in the shelter of another doorway, spying on Godfrey’s receding back. I could not make out its shape under its voluminous cloak but its presence boded ill. Then, as the figure turned to enter the door through which Godfrey had left, the mean features of Bagrat showed, twisted with a type of satisfaction very different to Godfrey’s – a satisfaction fashioned from pure malevolence. In a cold rush I wondered how Bagrat would use the information that Godfrey and Godehilde were lovers. Would he tell Baldwin immediately, or bide his time for when he could cause more mischief? And how would Baldwin react?
With Bagrat safely out of sight, I slipped from my own place of concealment and hurried in the same direction as my master. I stepped forward automatically, turning the complexities of the position over in my head. To tell Godfrey that his clandestine departure from his sister-in-law’s bed had been noticed could provoke a violent rage. There was also the small matter of explaining why I was abroad at that early hour, lurking surreptitiously outside Baldwin and Godehilde’s lodging. Nevertheless, I fast decided that I had to be open with my duke, whatever the consequences. I owed him that and more. And it would be best to get the confrontation over with as soon as possible, so I made my way directly to his chamber. The Duke looked too satisfied and sleepy to show much surprise at my sudden appearance. Before the drowsy expression on his face could turn to anger, I spoke out quickly.
“My Lord, your exit from the place where you spent the night was spotted…” Godfrey was now looking at me sharply, all signs of sleep driven from his face…“spotted by your brother’s servant Bagrat. I was returning here when I saw you emerging from…” I faltered “…and saw Bagrat watching you nearby. You need to guard your back against your brother’s vengeance.”
Godfrey frowned, opened his mouth as if about angrily to deny my insolent assumption, and then closed it again. His irritation drained away and he looked quizzically at me, and even showed a touch of embarrassment. I returned a level and steady gaze. Then he burst out laughing and I found myself grinning back at him.
“By God it was worth it! What a night that was! That woman is wasted on my cold brother! She needs a man of real passion to satisfy her.” He balled his hand into a fist and shook it with excitement. “Yes!” Then he laughed again.
“So from what tryst were you returning, young Hugh? Stuck here at the damned Emperor’s pleasure it seems we all must seek nocturnal adventure and excitement.”
Godfrey’s eyes widened as I told of how I had entered the city and sought out Peter the Hermit. My voice broke when I told of the fate of Walter Sans Avoir and I could not go on. The Duke stood and gripped my shoulder in sympathy.
“I remember the shine you took to that young ward of his. I would not have minded her myself…” Godfrey broke off his sentence at my hurt look. “Godehilde is more my sort. I’m sorry. But do not give up hope. Your little friend may be held a comfortable captive for a rich ransom. Why would a captor damage such a pretty, valuable item, eh?”
I thought bitterly that Godfrey did not really believe what he said.
“And Baldwin…well. I don’t think he will act openly against me. His pride will never allow him to admit to the world that his beautiful wife is less than loving and faithful. He will not admit that she turns to his brother for the satisfaction that he cannot give. And if he attacks me without reason he will forfeit the others’ support.”
“Maybe, my Lord. But he will be plotting some secret assault. Bagrat will wield the weapon. Or maybe some other henchman.”
“It is your job, Hugh, to keep your eye on that Armenian. But I still think I am safe for the time being. Even as a boy Baldwin was cold enough to be patient when scheming to get his way against Eustace and me. Now he benefits from a show of unity as much as I do if we are to reach the Asian shore untrammelled by Alexios’s damned oath of fealty.”
“So you think he will wait until we are on the other side?”
“I’ll bet my life on it.” And Go
dfrey roared with laughter.
The next weeks showed that this judgement of his brother was accurate. However, his appraisal of the Emperor was optimistic. My master may have understood Baldwin’s machinations but he was as confused as the rest of us by Byzantine diplomacy. One week we would be tempted by rich gifts wrapped in honeyed words, and offered grand titles whose names we could scarcely understand. Sometimes these would be for all; on other occasions they were pointed just at Baldwin, or Godfrey, or Eustace, to threaten our unity. Veiled threats might accompany this largesse, or might follow. Eventually the Emperor must have realised that his subtlety was wasted on us, for he resorted to a show of overwhelming force. On that saddest of holy days, Good Friday itself, he faced down a large group of our men who had rashly surged across the forbidden bridge over the Golden Horn. The fearsome Varangian Guard massacred many of them in a brisk skirmish outside the Adrianople Gate. I heard the fighting from my writing desk in camp where I was preparing despatches for the armies of Bohemond of Taranto and Raymond of Toulouse. In spite of these allies’ approach, when faced by the Emperor’s full might, Godfrey judged that the risk of rout and ruin from delaying his oath was too great.
So, on Easter Sunday itself, I rode a second time through the great Golden Gate, this time in the company of Duke Godfrey, Baldwin, Count Eustace and their senior lieutenants, and with a close escort of Byzantine cavalry front and back. The Greek lances were poised at the ready beside long pointed green shields to make sure that nobody would be tempted to step out of line. I could tell that under their affected nonchalance the Boulogne brothers were as deeply impressed as I had been when I first passed that way. Arriving once more in the great Augousteion square, I noted that with spring a colony of herons had built nests on the head of Emperor Justinian’s huge statue, and down the back of his horse. The dark bronze was now streaked with white guano. I smiled when I heard Godfrey joking pugnaciously to Eustace beside him.
“That’s one fine emperor covered in shit.”
Then we entered the Boukoleon, where the current incumbent of Justinian’s throne had laid out all the pomp at his disposal, even outdoing the splendour that I had witnessed there before. Intricately patterned silk carpets now swirled in motifs of red and blue down all the paths and corridors. Exotically uniformed soldiers lined every hallway, announcing the wide extent of Alexios’s domains; among them stood the tall Varangian Guardsmen, but there were many others that I did not recognise. I passed great black men, their cheeks gleaming like polished purple grapes, in white turbans whose soft fluffy feathers contrasted with their sharp curved swords. Further on, narrow eyes peered from sallow faces under helmets like lobster tails, their owners holding spears and shields grounded by their sides. The throne room was packed with richly cloaked attendants, and through the great arched windows all the ships and galleys at the Emperor’s disposal were on display. The Count de Vermandois, his bobbed brown hair freshly dressed with some oily pomade, stood below Emperor Alexios’s high throne with a smug expression on his weak royal face. Although Godfrey, Baldwin and Eustace had used all the means at their disposal to smarten themselves for this occasion, they looked mere poor rough soldiers in that room of riches. And nobody paid attention to me, but for all that I was uncomfortably self-conscious of the stains and mended tears in my own homespun cloak. A quiet murmur of foreign voices spread round the room as we advanced. Then absolute silence fell as Alexios, wearing a cloak with long jewelled tassels, spoke down from his throne.
“It pleases us to greet thee, great nobles, allies from the West. Much have we heard about your martial prowess.”
Did I detect irony in his voice that these great soldiers’ troops had been faced down just two days previously? I saw that Baldwin at least shared my thought, for a flash of anger passed over his proud face.
“I welcome you to Constantinople, capital of my Holy Roman Empire, truly the greatest city the world has seen, and to our imperial service. We will reward you with many honours and precious gifts, as we have those who have already sworn fealty to us.” He turned and smiled graciously at Vermandois. “So, with no more ado, let us bring forward the oath.”
A functionary stepped up, the square of his beard matching his flat black hat. His arms shook under the weight as he held out a large Holy Bible. I remembered the punishment I had suffered at Cluny and thought that I could do better than he, before being dragged back to the present when Godfrey was instructed to rest his hand on the book and intone:
“I, Godfrey de Bouillon, by the grace of God Duke of Lower Lorraine, acknowledge the overlordship of his Highest Majesty, the purple-born Emperor Alexios I Comnenos. I swear fealty to him, and in return will receive help and succour in my holy quest to relieve the Holy Land from its infidel yoke. I further swear that I will restore to my overlord Emperor Alexios any lands or territories which I wrest from the infidel and conquer by the strength of my arm, and which were previously possessions of his great Roman Empire.”
A loud “Amen” echoed around the room. Godfrey’s reluctant vow was followed by Baldwin, gabbling the oath with little enthusiasm and less sincerity, and then Eustace and their lieutenants. Four scarlet-clad trumpeters blasted out a fanfare at the end of this solemn ceremony. Four bearers inserted velvet-covered poles through Alexios’s throne and carried him to celebrate Easter Mass in Haghia Sophia. I trailed in his wake with the rest of the court.
Over the next three days, the Emperor’s galleys plied back and forth across the Bosphorus, ferrying our army to its first camp on the continent of Asia. No sooner were we installed, than we received news that Bohemond of Taranto had arrived with his Normans at Constantinople. He was said to be closely followed by the Provençals of Raymond of Toulouse. Emperor Alexios had only narrowly achieved his object of preventing the joining of the three Crusader armies, and I wondered how differently things might have turned out if Godfrey had held his nerve a little longer.
Like Godfrey and Baldwin before them, Bohemond and Raymond were taken aback by the request of the Emperor that they should swear oaths of fealty. This time Godfrey and Baldwin performed the role that they felt had been so pusillanimously fulfilled by the Count de Vermandois, and acted themselves as the Emperor’s advocates. For it was sure that they did not want to lose face in front of their fellow Crusader leaders, nor to be placed at a disadvantage when it came to treating with the Emperor. With the weight of the brothers Boulogne added to the argument, Bohemond and Raymond took less time to reach the same conclusion. They swore the oath before the month of April was out, so that our noble army of the Cross could soon be united on the eastern side of the straits.
SAINT LAZARUS’ COLLEGE
The Master sat in the same chair from which he had delivered his crushing decision to the Modern Languages Tutor. Now it was the turn of the Best-Selling Author to sit nervously under that steely gaze. He was already wrought up because he had had to drive himself up to town. Cash was now so short that it had been a choice between his driver and the Maserati, and as there was no point having a driver without a car, the driver had had to go. But the Best-Selling Author’s driving frightened even himself.
“You promised me an adventure about the Holy Grail. But we must be a third of the way through and we have had no mention of it yet. At the moment we seem to be caught in a Byzantine labyrinth of eleventh century politics. It that really what your readers want? Where are the Templars? Are you sure that you have not lost your touch?”
The Best-Selling Author shifted uncomfortably.
“I can’t bring in the Templars because they were not founded until 1119, well after the First Crusade. The History Don is adamant about that. But don’t worry, Master. The grail stuff is coming. I’ve worked in the love interest, and we’ve already had quite a bit of sex and some juicy violence. And I am pleased with some of the characters. I must say that I feel a particular rapport with Godfrey. Don’t you think? Just be patient.”
But under this bluster the Best-Selling Author did have so
me concerns. The History Don had placed him under intense pressure to stick closer to the real events than would have been his norm. And the Professor of English had insisted on providing his chapter headings, as well polishing his prose to make it more literary. In some places he had even inserted whole new sentences. The Best-Selling Author had to acknowledge that some of these included very nice turns of phrase. Some sounded almost poetic. But one or two were eerily familiar and he wondered whether some private joke was not being made at his expense.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE RATTLE OF BONES
I knew my God was not cruel. Blanche had done no harm. She could deserve no punishment. I was sure to find news of her when we passed the place where mad Peter’s army had scattered. Only if I doubted my God’s goodness would I be punished through Blanche’s suffering. So I prayed piously and clung to my hopes.
At daybreak in our previous camp, I could watch the sun rising behind the city and silhouetting its splendour darkly against the dawn sky. Now, when I woke, I looked out in the opposite direction over the water to see the sun’s rays gilding the ancient sea walls and polishing the roofs of Haghia Sophia and the other great churches. I could even make out the arched windows of the Emperor’s throne room, and I imagined the sun streaming through the precious glass to light and warm the grand interior where I had just been.