We mounted quickly and rode off in the direction taken by Eadmer. I knew that he would not have ridden as the crow flies and would instead have used every opportunity to deceive any pursuers. I also knew that he would be aware that he was riding away from Antioch and deeper and deeper into Artuqid territory. We would have to have our wits about us to avoid losing him altogether. I took a calculated gamble: assuming that leaving a trail of dust would not be wise, I guessed he would not gallop his horses and might even trot them. Given that, I also surmised he would veer south rather than north. Heading north was easier ground and closer to Antioch’s domain, whereas south was inhospitable desert. Therefore, I decided he would choose the opposite direction to the one the Muslims would predict. I prayed my conjecture would prove to be right.
After only an hour of riding, we saw tiny specks in the distance to the south-east. The specks were four in number. My guesswork had been right, and within a few minutes we were reunited. We saw no sign of any of the marines who had peeled off in different directions during the chase. This meant that, of our original contingent, Eadmer and I now commanded just five men.
Constance looked petrified and was of little help to Livia, who continued to stare vacuously into the distance. It was as if she had closed a door on the world and was locking herself away behind it. I tried to talk to her, but I could elicit no response.
Further to the south-east, the ground rose rapidly to meet a long ridge that ran diagonally across our path. It was our lifeline. We crossed the ridge and rode down the other side for about a mile and then followed a route back towards the coast, out of sight of the Artuqid army.
Thankfully, after three days, we finally arrived in Antioch.
11. Desolation
Antioch was in a state of panic. Since the fall of Jerusalem and the establishment of the Christian states in the Holy Land twenty years earlier, no Latin army had lost to a Muslim foe in a major battle. A mythology had been created on both sides that a large force of Christian knights was invincible. It was a view founded partly on the military prowess of the Christian warrior, but mainly on the power of the Almighty himself – who was clearly a Christian divinity, rather than a Muslim one.
We took Livia and Constance to Prince Roger’s rooms in the keep. Princess Hodierna had already left for the safety of her brother, the new King of Jerusalem, Baldwin II, taking most of her entourage with her. A junior chamberlain found a chamber for Livia and Constance and gave them a young maid, who tried to make them as comfortable as she could. Eadmer posted two men outside their room. He and I then went to what remained of the city’s garrison to find out what had happened to Prince Roger’s army on the battlefield and to assess the current state of the city’s defences.
What we heard was a very chastening account.
Of the men who had ridden out of Antioch on 28 June – a force just less than 4,000 strong – fewer than 150 had made it back alive. Foolishly, Roger of Salerno had decided not to wait for the arrival of King Baldwin’s army from Jerusalem, but chose to confront the Muslims with only his Antiochene forces. Prince Roger’s camp was in an area called the Belus Hills, close to a settlement called Sarmada. His scouts had told him that the valley he had chosen would conceal them from Il-Ghazi’s Artuqid army and that from there he would be able to launch a surprise attack. However, the Artuqids had infiltrated Prince Roger’s corps of scouts and he had been led into a trap. By first light, the Muslim army was poised to attack from three sides.
Prince Roger tried to muster his army and called on his priests to carry aloft the relic he always carried into battle, the True Cross of Christ, discovered by Arnulf of Chocques in Jerusalem on the Great Crusade. Although the defenders tried to form into defensive formations, the position was hopeless. They attempted to create a line commanded by Robert of Saint Lo, Prince Roger himself, Guy de Frenelle, Geoffrey the Monk and Renaud Mansoer.
With the Muslim army poised, a fabled qaadi, Abu al-Fadl Ibn al-Khashshab, wearing his lawyer’s turban but brandishing a lance, rode out in front of the troopers and gave a passionate evocation of the duties of a jihadi warrior. Il-Ghazi’s men were in a frenzy by the time he had finished and rode into battle baying for Christian blood. It had the reverse effect on Prince Roger’s army: already doomed, they knew they faced men bent on merciless revenge for a generation of Christian occupation of their land and desecration of their holy places.
The crusader army fought for their lives with some success on the right flank from the men of Geoffrey the Monk. Guy de Frenelle also held some ground, but the battle was soon decided on the left flank. Robert of Saint Lo and the Turcopoles were driven back into Roger’s division, disrupting it. A north wind blew dust in the faces of the Antiochene knights and footmen, confusing them further. Soon, Il-Ghazi’s forces enveloped the crusaders.
As most of Roger’s senior knights fell around him, he was soon left isolated amidst the mayhem. Standing next to the priests carrying the jewel-encrusted True Cross, he fought off several assailants before he was killed instantly by the point of a sword which entered through his eye socket and exited through the back of his skull. The priests were cut down and the holy relic was desecrated in a mock crucifixion as the Artuqids tied Prince Roger’s body to the cross and hoisted it high in the air to symbolize their victory over the infidels.
Walter the Chancellor, who was the only senior knight to escape the slaughter, said the earth could not be seen for the bodies of men and horses, so densely impaled with arrows that they resembled hedgehogs. He said that the battlefield was an Ager Sanguinis, a Field of Blood.
Fortunately for Antioch itself, Il-Ghazi had since indulged in a mammoth drunken celebration, following which he had turned for home, pursued by King Baldwin’s army from Jerusalem, bent on revenge. I decided to use this good fortune to get Livia out of the city and back to the ship at Seleucia Pieria, planning a return to Venice as quickly as possible.
We retrieved Livia’s dowry and jewels from the Treasury and, once again, the journey to the sea passed quickly. We made preparations to sail on the next tide and tried to make Livia as comfortable as possible in her cabin. I tried several times to comfort her – but for the time being, at least, she was lost to the world.
As we had only a handful of marines for the return journey, I made it clear to the Captain that he was to avoid the Anatolian coast and make the more difficult crossing via Cyprus and Crete, where Byzantium had much more control. My intention was to follow the coastline once we had passed the Greek mainland. Soon we were in the open sea, and for the first time in many months I started to relax. As soon as I did so, I started to reflect on what had happened on our tragic adventure to the Holy Land.
Apart from my personal regrets about my aborted relationship with Livia, my professional failure in not protecting her preyed on my mind more and more. Facing the Doge would not be easy. As for Livia, I felt powerless. She felt she had no future and was clearly living a private hell from which recovery would be difficult. I was determined to help her, no matter what it took – even if it involved taking her away from Venice. Perhaps then we could eventually start a new life together. This resolve helped me cope with the melancholy of the voyage.
The third night of the journey was cool and fresh. It was the middle of July, and the day had been hot, but the night sky was clear and the scorching heat had subsided. It was the dark of the moon and the stars glistened against the black of the night. I began to fall asleep listening to the ship creak and groan in the choppy waters, enjoying the sensation of drifting into a peaceful oblivion.
I was woken abruptly by a woman’s shriek. It had Constance’s unmistakable pitch. I rushed to the ladies’ cabin, where I was met by an appalling sight.
&nb
sp; Constance was distraught, drenched in spray and pulling at the helmsman’s arm, imploring him to bring the ship about. When she saw me, she started to shout hysterically.
‘Livia’s gone! I can’t find her!’
We were soon joined by Eadmer and the Captain. All hands were called on deck to scour the horizon, as the ship began to turn back in a big arc. Lanterns were lit and a search party was organized to scour every inch of the ship. I grasped Constance and tried to calm her down.
‘When did you last see her?’
Constance gasped out her answer between racking sobs.
‘I’m not sure … it was late … she was in her bunk, with her back to me. I’m not sure if she was asleep … I fell asleep and woke with a fright … Livia wasn’t there any more.’
‘You’ve no idea how long?’
‘It could have been a while … I think I was asleep for some time.’
She was now sobbing uncontrollably, and I asked one of the stewards to put her in her cabin.
When I joined Eadmer and the Captain, they both looked forlorn and shook their heads. There was no sign of Livia on board. Clouds had come in and the sea was an infinity of inky black waves.
It was Eadmer who said what everyone was thinking.
‘She could have gone overboard more than an hour ago.’
I asked the Captain if the helmsman had seen anything, or if the men on watch had been aware of a disturbance.
‘If she left her cabin at the stern, she would have been behind the helmsman. With the noises on board from the fresh winds, it would have been difficult to hear her.’
I sat on the deck and put my head on my hands. It was the lowest point in my life. Not only had I not been able to protect her from Roger of Salerno, I had now failed to prevent Livia from throwing herself to her doom. I supposed that she had waited for the familiarity of the sea – an environment that had always been part of her life – and chose to end her agony in the anonymity of the deep, rather than face the public shame of returning to Venice.
So many things could have been different, and I vowed there and then never to make the same mistakes again.
We continued to search for several hours after dawn, but daylight only served to add to the desolation of the vast and empty sea.
Livia was lost to me, consigned to a watery grave.
Eadmer and I had long conversations on the remainder of the journey to Cyprus. Most of our discussions focused on whether to return to Venice, or to find a ship in Cyprus that would take us back to the Holy Land.
Eventually, we decided to return to seek a new beginning with the Latin Princes of the Holy Land. However, as soon as the decision was made, I realized that there was an element of cowardice in choosing not to return to Venice. I decided that I must come to terms with my demons and face the Doge.
When we arrived in Venice, I saw it with different eyes. Its splendour was tainted by my regrets. I had lost my Serenissima, and the beautiful city would never again beguile me as it had before. I was haunted by the thought that Livia must have imagined that we would share a life together amidst its elegant palazzi and fabled canali. But I had shattered her dream. To travel now along the waterways she loved so much, but to which she could not bear to return, was a torture almost impossible to bear.
Domenico Michele had already heard that Lady Livia was not aboard our ship. He declined to see us, asking instead to see Lady Constance and the Captain alone. I gave them a full account of our mission before they joined us at Mamure, which they rehearsed and conveyed to the Doge.
I then waited to hear the Doge’s reaction.
About an hour later, Constance appeared, looking sombre. She spoke to me in a voice that was formal and devoid of emotion.
‘His Serenity thanks you for your duty in trying to protect Lady Livia. On behalf of Venice, he wishes you well in your future endeavours. However, he asks that you do not repeat the circumstances of the voyage, or of her demise.’
She then turned and left without another word.
It was an abrupt end to our Venetian adventure. But under the circumstances, it was perhaps not surprising. The Doge had lost a sister in the most tragic of ways and obviously wanted to bring the matter to a close as quickly as possible.
I hoped that he felt no malice towards me, nor attached any blame to my conduct. I liked to think that his perfunctory dismissal of us from his service was simply his way of bringing to an end an episode on which he did not wish to dwell in any more detail. I wished that I could have shared with him my affection for Livia and my respect for the courage she had shown.
But that was out of the question.
Within the month, we were back in Antioch. The city was under the guardianship of King Baldwin II, who had become its regent and made Antioch a vassal state of his kingdom in Jerusalem. Order had been imposed on the city and a semblance of normality had returned. We took lodgings close to St George’s Gate and that evening Eadmer and I discussed our options.
I began by summing up our situation.
‘Our biggest problem in the short term is that our funds are exhausted. We need to find work in the service of one of the Latin lords – perhaps King Baldwin himself.’
Eadmer smiled at me before asking for the unpalatable truth.
‘How much do we have?’
‘I’m afraid we have just two pieces of silver, our weapons and armour, and the clothes we stand up in.’
‘You’d better have this then.’
Eadmer pushed a purse across the table. In it were at least two handfuls of pristine Venetian ducati and four gold bezants – enough to live on for a very long time.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘I requisitioned it from Livia’s dowry chest. I estimate the silver is what we’re owed for our service to the Doge. The bezants are a bonus.’
‘Eadmer, that’s a lot more than we’re entitled to.’
‘I don’t think so! Without you, none of us would have made it to Antioch. The Doge owes you far more than is in that purse.’
‘I’m not sure he’ll see it that way.’
‘Hal, there was nothing you could do to save Livia. She chose to end her life. And Prince Roger has already suffered the fate he deserves. None of it was your fault.’
In many ways, he was right. I tried not to think too much about the callousness of taking money from Livia’s dowry, and hid behind Eadmer’s estimable pragmatism.
What haunted me, as it would for years to come, was what had happened between Livia and me in the Taurus Mountains and all the horrors that had occurred afterwards. Had I known that Roger was already married and a cruel abuser of women, I would never have agreed to deliver the innocent Livia to him.
But that was all in the past; I now had to find my destiny elsewhere.
Fulham Palace, 1 January 1187
Dear Thibaud,
Winter has got much worse here in London. I haven’t left the Palace for ten days. I have caught some sort of chill and several of my scribes are ill. Bodies are found on the roads on a daily basis – people are frozen to death, the beasts are dying in their stables. We have had several blizzards and all roads to the north are closed.
I don’t want to go to St Paul’s today, but I’ve missed two services already, I can’t miss a third. I think of all the poor souls who have to venture out by necessity and pray to the Good Lord to help us survive this weather.
But enough of my tribulations. Today another year begins – a day that young people look forward to with relish, but one that older people dread. Another year on the tally stick, and not many more to go.
It is a new beginning for Harold of Hereford too: we are about to open a new chapter in his absor
bing story. When you read it, my friend, you will understand why I have been so keen to get this story on to vellum. Here is a man who was a founding member of the Knights Templars and took the oath with Hugh de Payens in Jerusalem in 1119. Given all that has happened since, I think you will agree that his story is a vital part of the history of our Church.
Yours in God,
Gilbert
12. Initiation
Eadmer’s unwavering support was vital over the coming months in the Holy Land. Always loyal, he had a quiet strength that I drew on constantly. He missed England but, as he often said, his sworn duty was to me; as long as I wanted to continue my adventures, he would be at my side. His was the life of a warrior, a life of dedication and resolve based on discipline and duty. He was a constant source of inspiration to me. Sometimes he would find himself a woman, but they were only temporary assignations and he never seemed to be interested in long-term companionship and the pleasures of a family. His loyalty was to me, and to me alone, and every day I tried to remind myself how fortunate I was.
The mood among the Christians of the Holy Land after the Battle of the Field of Blood was very sombre. Defeat at the hands of the Muslims was inexplicable: were they not inferior and worshippers of a false god? Therefore, ought not the Christian cause in the name of the One True God be invincible? Word began to spread that the defeat could only have been caused by Christian sin against the Almighty. Roger of Salerno became the culprit. His blatant adulterous relationships with any woman he chose was his greatest stain, but then stories about his brutal rape of Livia started to circulate. Some of his household had survived the Field of Blood and one in particular, a steward, could be found any night of the week in the taverns of Antioch relating the lurid details.
The reaction to defeat and the sins of arrogant Christians such as Prince Roger created a wave of support for a return to the valour of the Great Crusade. It was said that twenty years after their exploits, the crusaders’ courage, sacrifice and devotion had been forgotten and that those virtues needed to be reaffirmed.
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