by K. M. Grant
Saddlers, fodder merchants, silversmiths, armorers, wheelwrights, farriers, and all manner of men and women were beginning to arrive and encamp in the castle courtyard. Over the next few weeks, so many turned up that they spilled outside the great curtain wall, creating a small, busy village. Carts, both open and closed, together with horses of all shapes, sizes, colors, and temperaments, jostled for room in the Hartslove stables or were tethered in the jousting field. Grooms and squires set up home in pavilions and tents, attracting the usual crowd of entertainers, petty thieves, and those seeing the chance to make a quick shilling by offering every kind of service from laundry to tooth-pulling. The parish priest began performing a quick trade in confessions.
The clang of hammer on anvil echoed for miles. When the weather allowed, the noise was of trees being felled as thousands upon thousands of arrows were made and tipped with steel. Crossbows were strung together for the arbalesters. Swords, spears, lances, mallets, and clubs formed huge ugly piles, and horse equipment, from saddles, stirrups, and bits for bridles, to ropes and silken blankets, was strewn over every inch of the spring grass. Everybody got under everybody else’s feet until by the beginning of Lent, Sir Thomas, losing patience, ordered the knights to take their squires and grooms and go hunting or hawking. Whatever they did, he begged them to be sure to stay out all day.
“Take advantage of the spring sunshine,” he told them. “Help yourself to Hartslove’s game. Just GET OUT!”
In all this commotion Old Nurse was in her element. She organized thousands of meals, boxed the ears of those she found asleep in places she did not think fit, and made sure, in her own way, that life for Sir Thomas, despite the takeover of his home, was still tolerable. The knights, old, young, ragged, and rich, teased her, to which she responded with a steely glare and a fine line of oaths. She knew all about knights. They were supposed to be full of honor and glory. Why, then, did so many things mysteriously disappear whenever they came to call, and who was it who had peed all over Sir Thomas’s finest tapestry, made, with many tears and mistakes, by his late wife? Bad enough that King Richard was charging an extra tax, the Saladin tithe, to pay for this war. She was not having the knights make a pauper of Sir Thomas, as well as the monstrous Saladin, whom Old Nurse cursed daily in her prayers. She never seemed to sleep, and many was the knight who had his own rest disturbed by Old Nurse feeling under his blanket to see if anything had been secreted away. Nobody was too grand not to feel the sharp end of her tongue or her prying fingers. Sir Thomas, in a quiet moment, made sure that she knew of his appreciation by handing over a pouch of gold and one of his late wife’s rings. He said nothing, but they understood each other very well.
Finally in mid-May, just when it seemed Hartslove could stand no more, and the crusading rhetoric from the priests was at its most fanciful, Sir Thomas declared that they were off.
The night before departure, Ellie and William snatched a moment or two together. Ellie, try as she did to hide it, was distraught at the thought of everybody leaving. This made William very uncomfortable, and he determined that their farewells would not be prolonged. He felt much too keyed up to be of any comfort to somebody being left behind. They arranged to meet after dinner in Hosanna’s stable.
When Ellie arrived, William was already there, Hosanna’s head over his shoulder. Ellie greeted the horse before she turned to William, hoping to keep control of her voice.
“So,” she said, “this is the moment everybody has been waiting for.”
William stroked Hosanna’s nose with a hay stalk, which the horse tried to catch. Both William and Ellie laughed, but their laughter was not sincere. Ellie’s soon turned into a sob, which she tried to hide by blowing her nose.
“It’s dusty in here,” she said rather lamely.
There was an awkward silence, which William broke first.
“Take care of Sacramenta,” he said.
Ellie nodded. Hosanna moved back into his stable, and William and Ellie found themselves looking straight at each other. They stood in silence for a moment or two before William’s heart melted. He took a deep breath and succumbed to an increasing and overwhelming desire to put his arms round her. He buried his face in her hair as they clung to each other as they had when they were children.
“I’ll be back.” William’s voice was muffled. “You’ll see, Ellie. After the king has ridden into Jerusalem, I’ll ride Hosanna back over the Hartslove drawbridge.”
Then he fled so that she should not see that his face was flaming as red as Hosanna’s coat.
When Ellie eventually left Hosanna’s stable, her cheeks were streaked with tears. She did not see Gavin standing by the door until he caught her arm. They had spoken little since their betrothal, for Gavin had been busy and Ellie had not sought him out. This evening, he had followed William into the stables and, while William and Ellie had been with Hosanna, had been sitting with Montlouis, trying to get his own thoughts in order.
Ellie suddenly felt quite weak.
Gavin stared at her. He swallowed before he spoke.
“Can I give you back this little dog?” he asked, producing, to Ellie’s surprise, the wooden toy that she had dropped in the gutter when Gavin had left Hartslove in disgrace. “I would like you to have it again.”
Ellie, wishing her nose were not running, took it.
“I didn’t know you’d picked it up,” she whispered. “I’ll keep it in my pocket. Take care of …”
“Yes, I’ll take care of my father and Will,” Gavin interrupted. “And I’ll do my best for Hosanna, too. Now, I’d better go and find Sir Percy. Father wants to make sure he has everything he needs. Try to keep Old Nurse from emptying the cellar while we are away. Whoever returns from this adventure will be in need of a drink.”
Ellie smiled wanly and, clutching the wooden dog, watched him turn and disappear.
Early the following morning, the whole panoply of knights, grooms, soldiers, mechanics, farriers, cooks, laundresses, and baggage-masters required to keep the war machine going gathered together on the tournament field for Abbot Hugh to bless. Brother Ranulf, clutching the ring made of Hosanna’s hair, prayed hard for the gleaming red stallion, who seemed to him to embody the noble essence of the crusade. Brother Andrew came, too, and slipped Hosanna a sweet cake fortified with mead as a farewell offering. Hosanna wrinkled his lips and made Brother Andrew laugh out loud.
The men of God began to chant as they left to walk back to the monastery, but their voices were drowned out by the cries of the knights, each of whom wanted to make a very public vow to do his duty by God, the king, and Sir Thomas. Then for the men of war, the time for prayer was over. They called for their horses and were impatient to get going.
Humphrey brought Montlouis for Gavin, while Hal held Hosanna. The two boys had decided to ride their warhorses rather than, as was more usual, have them led to the coast by a groom. On this momentous occasion it seemed more fitting to go off in style. Humphrey was still awkward with William, feeling he had never quite been forgiven for his part in causing Hosanna’s injuries. Yet Humphrey was a good squire in his way, careful in his work. William tried to be extrapolite, but he was glad to have Hal, on whom he could utterly rely. It was Sir Thomas who suggested the boy combine the two roles of squire and groom. “I think Hal will manage very well,” he told William. “And who knows what might be in store afterward if both jobs are properly done.” Hal was delighted and rushed off to tell his mother, who was standing at the front of the huge crowd gathered to wave the crusaders off.
Both horses were excited as Gavin and William tried to mount. The two brothers laughed. Their feelings of the night before were forgotten. They were filled with strength.
“Humphrey! Do make Montlouis stand still,” cried Gavin as he hauled himself into the saddle.
“This is what it’s all about,” William told Hosanna as the horse rubbed his head on William’s back as if to tell him to hurry up. William hopped about and finally managed to climb on. “Next
stop, Jerusalem.” He grinned as Hal fussed over his stirrups and girth.
The baggage train was about twice the size of any that had left Hartslove in the past. The quartermasters rushed about with tally sticks that never tallied. The farriers scratched their heads as they counted odd numbers of iron shoes. Hal had personally loaded everything William and Hosanna needed. In God’s war, and with Sir Thomas to please, everything must be just so. Hal looked over at the spare horses that the de Granvilles were taking for their own use. Dargent was among the five that William had been given—two warhorses and three coursers. Keeper John had laughed as, several days before they left, he handed over to William and Hal two smart grays and a black. “Not long ago you were begging for one warhorse,” he had remarked. “Now you’ve two, and these three others to back them up. Times have changed.”
Gavin also had five horses. His other warhorse was a full brother to Montlouis called Montalan. Sir Thomas had two old and faithful grays, Philo and Phoebus. When Keeper John suggested he might like a younger horse, Sir Thomas had smiled wryly. “I’ll not be going quite as hell for leather as my boys,” he said. “These two old fellows will suit me fine.”
The Hartslove stud was almost empty now. As the horses thronged together in the May sunshine Hal looked at them with wonder and some consternation. “Do you think that horses have souls?” he asked as he rode Dargent up beside William. “And do they, like us, go straight to heaven if they die on crusade?” In view of the numbers that were likely to perish, the answer seemed important.
William, trying to get used to the feel on his legs of a new pair of quilted, chain-mail-lined chausses, was not sure. He certainly believed wholeheartedly in God, although, despite what the monks said, he saw Him as a judge rather than a father. What is more, he certainly believed that the crusade must be a blessed undertaking, since the pope himself had said so. But when the pope tried to say that despite the fact that God created them, animals had no souls, William could not believe him.
“I think every living thing that performs bravely will end up in heaven,” he said to Hal, his voice sounding surer than he really felt. “Now can you tell if I have got this leg armor the right way round? And are you certain you packed that coif thing that goes under my helmet? Old Nurse washed it, I think.”
Hal reassured William that he had forgotten nothing. Then both boys turned and went back to say a final farewell to Old Nurse, Keeper John, and Ellie.
Ellie was trying to smile as she was briefly lifted off her feet by Sir Thomas before he mounted Phoebus.
“Good luck! Please come home again,” she whispered into his ear, and wished she could have caught his tears and put them in a casket.
She steeled herself to remain smiling for William and Gavin as they trotted up. She patted Montlouis and touched the star between Hosanna’s eyes. Then before anybody had a chance to say a word, she fled, running back over the drawbridge and climbing up onto the castle roof. From there she watched for over two hours as the huge cavalcade gathered itself into some kind of marching order, and headed down toward the road to the coast. She could see the great de Granville banner, with its hart and river emblem, flapping in the breeze and hear the thud of ten thousand hooves. The clanking of one thousand ironclad wagon wheels was deafening. Then, when all that was left was dust, she sat listening to a silence broken only by the rantings of Old Nurse as she began the massive task of clearing up.
10
Journey to the Holy Land, July 1190 to July 1191
The Hartslove crusaders met the king at Vezelay, and William was dubbed to knighthood along with several others. Glowing from their ritual baths and dressed in tunics traced through with gold and silver thread, the new knights heard Mass and asked for God’s blessing. Sir Thomas was thrilled that William was the first to receive his sword from the king. William bowed as Richard commanded him to honor God and spoke of the fine service provided by the de Granville family. The king made particular mention of Gavin and hoped that William appreciated the fine example he set. William’s face went a little white, but he nodded. Sir Thomas thought he would burst with pride. Finally, William received his spurs.
He remembered little of the feasting and celebrations that followed. He was too overcome to take in the gorgeous pavilions and the embroidered pennants or even to appreciate fully the jeweled headband that his father gave him for Hosanna. He did recall his father helping him put on his first full suit of armor, and how they both swore and cursed because Ellie’s small, strong fingers would have made securing the buckles so much easier.
At the tournament that followed, King Richard was particularly struck by Hosanna.
“A fine horse,” he said to William. “A bit small, but he seems to have something about him that makes up for that.” The king went to Hosanna’s head. “It is strange that this white star is the only white on his whole body,” he remarked, and put his hand up to touch it. Hosanna lowered his head, and the king laughed before moving on.
“Something else to tell Ellie,” said Gavin, suddenly at William’s side.
William said nothing.
A week later they were on the move again, this time heading for Marseilles, a month’s ride away, where a fleet was waiting to transport them to Acre, a coastal city in Muslim hands, and one that would have to be taken before any attempt could be made on Jerusalem. The de Granvilles were to travel in the king’s ship.
In Marseilles, William was given the job of supervising the loading of the horses through the great trapdoors in the stern, and he enjoyed it, even though the job was not easy. Some horses, unused to sea travel, took fright at the sound of the water below. Others refused to pass into the black hold where the animals already loaded stood in a line, divided by stall rails, each with a manger, a bed of esparto grass, ropes, and a sling to help keep them upright. In the smaller ships, which took twenty horses, there was just enough room to breathe, but no room at all if a horse began to plunge about. The bigger, sixty-horse ships into which the sumpter horses were packed were steadier, but the journey for all the horses was always a considerable trial. William tried to put animals reputed to be steady next to ones that seemed rather less certain. Of their own mounts only Montlouis had shown signs of reluctance to embark, but with a rocklike Hosanna by his side, eventually even he was persuaded to take his place in the hold, sweating but not openly panicking.
The de Granvilles’ warhorses were all together in a twenty-horse ship, and Hal organized their feeding and watering. He also took charge of Mark and found himself operating as an unofficial nanny to the less confident boys who were away from home for the first time. When the fleet was ready, the king’s standard was hoisted and they crept out of the harbor.
The voyage was a living hell. Out in the open sea, everybody was sick, and Philo, unable to drink, collapsed and died of dehydration and misery.
“If only Keeper John were here, I am sure he would know what to do,” said Hal, when William came down to the hold to find him cradling the horse’s head in his lap. The groom was almost beside himself.
“I don’t think so,” said William, sickened and horrified by the suffering the animals were enduring, even when the weather was relatively calm. The hold was dank and gloomy and stank of excrement and death. “There is nothing to do but hope the journey is not too long.”
“At least you have got other horses.” From farther down the hold a voice could be heard. It was Gavin’s friend Adam Landless. “My horse died this morning, and he was my only one.”
William told Hal to give Adam one of the Hartslove coursers. A knight without a horse was useless.
The days began to merge together, and a succession of storms blew up that lasted for a fortnight without letting up. All the lanterns, swinging wildly, flickered and went out. In the dark the only sound to be heard above the roar of the wind and waves was that of horses screaming and men groaning. One groom, driven mad, hauled himself out of the hold and, opening his arms to the lashing rain, threw himself overboa
rd.
The de Granvilles huddled together just below deck, trying to stop themselves being hurled about as the ship soared and dipped like a demented bird. It was impossible to get in or out of the hold without risking life and limb. When the storms blew themselves out, the ship’s master decreed that the horse carcasses should be pitched out into the open sea through a trapdoor that had remained unsealed for this purpose. William volunteered to go down to the hold to supervise.
“William,” Sir Thomas said, unable to move through seasickness, “say a prayer as Philo goes out.” Tears were streaming down his face.
But William never said his prayer. Down in the hold it was all he could do to point and issue ropes to drag the corpses out. The smell was overwhelming. The grooms who had remained in the hold seemed oblivious. It was just as well. The dead horses were unceremoniously hauled up a ramp and pushed out of a small opening as fast as possible. They were already bloated. As they floated into the wake the oarsmen and the knights turned their heads away. Of the fifteen horses left, at least three others looked as if they would not last much longer.
The next few days were sunny, and it was possible to go up on deck. Gavin and William walked together. Scudding forward with the help of a strong prevailing wind, the king’s fleet made quite a spectacle. With its mixture of huge dromonds and smaller, slim-waisted galleys, oars pumping and sails flapping, the ships cut through the water and made good time. On the prow of each ship, a great spur threatened any vessel that dared to issue a challenge.
Hosanna remained undisturbed, and as the weeks went past, Montlouis and the other horses became more used to the swell. The grooms commented on how steady Hosanna was, and the sailors latched on to him as a mascot. As they rested from their oars they would come down and talk to Hal. They enjoyed hearing about Hosanna’s miraculous recovery at the abbey and took to touching the star on his head for luck.