Crusade

by Stewart Binns

  Estrith went over to the tomb. It was just as it had been described to me. The plain stone sarcophagus was topped by a finely dressed slab, unadorned save for the outline of the saint’s form chased into it and, carved in relief, standing proud of it, her hands in prayer. We stood in silence, deep beneath the nave, the echoes gone, the wind now barely audible.

  It is strange how something as plain as a block of stone can strike fear into the hearts of even the most resolute of men. Cold and unyielding, and piled high with others of its kind, it creates an eerie presence that seems to possess a life of its own. The stones of the crypt reverberated, as if they could speak, and gave birth to dark corners and gloomy shadows which concealed secrets and mysteries.

  Estrith ended the unnerving silence by pulling a rosary from a small purse on her belt.

  ‘Nobody noticed me take this when we were dragged from the chapel all those years ago. I have kept it ever since. As we don’t have the Talisman to wear, I thought we should each wear this rosary as we take the oath.’

  Made of striking pearls and rubies, the beads culminated in a delicate silver cross on which was chased the figure of the crucified Christ. Estrith placed it around our necks in turn. We then each placed our left hand on St Etheldreda’s hands and clasped our right hand to our chest in the Roman salute of the Brotherhood of Ely, taking it in turns to recite the words which would become the guiding light of the rest of our days.

  Robert was the last to take the oath. He had remembered the words perfectly and recited them with meaning, reaffirming a vow that had been intended to persuade his father to be a fair and just king. Had he been a better king, after Ely? Some say he did become a more sympathetic ruler; others say his tyranny never abated. Regardless of that, his firstborn and successor as Duke of Normandy had taken a new oath, affirming everything that the Brotherhood had fought for. Their suffering and death had not been in vain.

  We placed our weapons on the tomb, formed ourselves into a circle around it and held hands as Estrith prayed for us.

  ‘Blessed martyr, protect this small band of sinners and help us to be courageous in everything we do. We will strive to bring honour to your name and live up to the example of those who showed us the way. In the name of God Almighty. Amen.’

  And so, our small group of brothers-in-arms had become a true brotherhood. Not only that, we had sanctified our bond in the exact place where Hereward’s brotherhood had been formed. We all felt elated to be able to inherit the legacy of all that had been hoped for at Ely, but we were also daunted that with swearing the oath came so much responsibility – both as brethren and as individuals.

  We made haste to Normandy, where Robert had to finance, recruit and prepare a new army for an expedition the like of which had not been attempted since the days of the legions of Rome.

  Robert garnered his resources over the first few months of 1096 in concert with many others from as far afield as Germany, Christian Spain and southern Italy to put together the host of avenging Christians that the Pope had called for. We heard the news of each new contingent and listened to the ever more hateful rhetoric with growing anxiety.

  Besides Robert of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse, the men who provided the majority of the Crusade’s money and manpower were some of the richest men in Europe: Godfrey of Bouillon, the second son of Count Eustace of Boulogne, who mortgaged all his estates to pay for his adventure; Count Robert of Flanders who, like Raymond of Toulouse, was driven by religious fanaticism; Stephen, Count of Blois, who was bullied into going by his domineering wife to atone for his many sins; and Baldwin of Boulogne, Godfrey’s brother, who was motivated by simple greed and had every intention of staying in the Holy Land to create his own Christian fiefdom.

  The formidable Bohemond of Taranto, the eldest son of Robert Guiscard, also ‘took the cross’ to the Holy Land, as it came to be known – through the practice adopted by the Crusaders of sewing a cross on to their surcoats, or painting it on to their shields. A man who stood a head taller than any of his contemporaries, he was as fierce as he was tall and had spent his life fighting Byzantines and Muslims in southern Italy and the Adriatic.

  Bohemond also brought a large group of Norman knights from Calabria, Apulia and Sicily, battle-hardened men used to fighting Arab armies. Among them was another giant, Tancred of Hauteville – only twenty years old and fluent in Arabic, he had already made a reputation for himself as a ferocious warrior.

  There was one other leader of the Crusade, whose army of peasants, thieves and vagabonds left Europe long before the knights and professional soldiers. Peter the Hermit, a short, skinny ascetic with long, unkempt hair, was not fond of washing himself or his meagre clothes, walked barefoot, drank only wine and ate only fish. Despite his repulsive appearance and odd habits, he was a remarkable orator who inspired large crowds, which followed him around as if he were a messiah. By May of 1096, his multitude, over 20,000 strong, was on its way to Constantinople. The horde had almost no money, few weapons and little idea where the Holy Land was, but they had a blind faith compelling them to go – men and women, young and old, from all over Europe.

  When Peter the Hermit’s followers reached Germany, their anti-Muslim hatred found another, much easier target – the other ‘infidels’, the placid and inconspicuous Jews who had lived at peace in Europe for centuries. Like a contagion, as the Crusaders passed through the towns and cities of central Europe, their fanaticism spread to the local population, inciting them to slaughter their Jewish neighbours and fellow citizens in their thousands.

  What we feared would happen had begun, but long before we had expected it. The Jews just happened to get in the way.

  Robert’s biggest dilemma in preparing his army was how to pay for it. The sum required was so huge, it would have impoverished his duchy for years.

  He called the Brethren together to discuss it.

  ‘I estimate I need four times my annual income to pay for the thousands of people who want to make the journey. Several of my ancestors made pilgrimages to Jerusalem; most never came back. I’ve been checking the accounts. Do you realize that, as well as knights and infantry, I need to take a complete duplicate of my administration and every skill and trade in the realm, from grooms to blacksmiths, whores to falconers? My steward has calculated that we will need four hundred carts and double the number of oxen to pull them! I think we can find enough whores, but where will I find eight hundred oxen?’

  Imperturbable as always, Edwin came up with the obvious solution.

  ‘Can’t you take fewer people?’

  ‘If only that were possible; every priest in the realm is preaching salvation to those who take up the cross. They are swearing oaths to God to free the Sacred Places. Once they’ve done that, I can’t deny them passage. That would be tantamount to heresy – and would lead to me being accused of the same crime as the Muslims.’

  I had anticipated Robert’s dilemma and had been thinking about it for a while.

  ‘Robert, I have a suggestion for you.’

  ‘Please! I need a very large pot of gold.’

  ‘Well, I think I know where there is one. Rufus covets Normandy like a parched man craves water. Why don’t you pledge him a controlling share of the wealth of the dukedom? I have spoken to your Chancellor, and he estimates its value at around 10,000 German marks. According to the great ledger of taxes and tithes drawn up in your father’s reign, if the King were to impose a geld of four shillings per hide throughout the entire kingdom, he could raise the money. He wouldn’t be very popular, but I don’t think that would bother Rufus.’

  ‘Edgar, you’re a cunning old fox; that might work!’

  A few weeks later, Rufus, King of England, made a personal delivery of the huge geld.

  He entered Rouen in grand style with enough coin to acquire two-thirds of the duchy: 67 barrels, each containing 100 pounds of silver. In exchange he took possession of his homeland and united England and Normandy. His long-term ambition had been achieved – s
overeignty over a land that stretched from the wildernesses of Wales and Scotland to the gates of Paris.

  Robert, although saddened by the loss, was at long last freed from the burden of his inheritance and possessed of sufficient resources to begin a dramatic new adventure in a distant land.

  PART FIVE

  For God’s Sake

  25. The Purple

  We had to reach the Alps before winter, and in September of 1096 all was ready for the long journey across Europe. The various contingents took different routes, partly out of preference, but also to help spread the impact of the vast horde on local supplies of fresh food.

  Robert’s Norman army included many Norman knights based in England and a few dozen native Englishmen who could afford the costs of horses, grooms and men-at-arms. I was given the honour of leading the English with my own staff and retinue. Edwin became my standard-bearer and Sweyn my aide-de-camp. He was granted a full knight’s title by Robert – Sir Sweyn of Bourne – which allowed Adela to revert to her role as Sweyn’s wife and take the title Lady Adela of Bourne, thus granting her sufficient status to mix with other high-born Crusaders. Robert also found a title of esteem for Estrith, appointing her as Abbess of Fécamp, a dormant appellation within his gift for a foundation that had been closed during his father’s reign.

  Several other lords and knights brought their wives – some even brought their children – so Adela and Estrith had far more female company than they had been used to.

  Our route took us via Lyon and Geneva and we crossed the Alps well before the first snows, refreshing ourselves with an extended stay outside the gates of Turin. We were fêted everywhere we went with wild cheering and gifts of food, wine and religious relics. Masses were said for us, and many of our knights were blessed with more amorous gifts by women along the route.

  In some places, a few particularly ardent souls took the spontaneous decision to join the Crusade, closed up their houses, gathered their belongings and weapons and found a place in the convoy.

  I often looked back to admire the remarkable sight that we presented – an immensely long band of colour weaving its way through the lush autumn countryside. The usual martial array of heraldic pennons, gonfalons and war banners in every hue imaginable had been superseded by the blood red of Christ’s cross. It also seemed to be painted on every shield and embroidered on every surcoat and cloak, creating a striking statement of common cause.

  Songs and prayers often broke the monotonous trundle of the carts and the clatter of hooves, and there were always the laughter and animated conversation of excited people, enthused by their mission.

  Robert was a well-organized leader. The daily march was carefully shepherded and the route meticulously plotted; only the dust of southern Italy created some minor inconvenience. We all had mixed feelings. The cause seemed worthy enough – to replace oppressive Muslim rule with a benign Christian realm like the one Count Roger had created in Sicily, a sovereignty now welcomed by Muslims.

  But what if the stories were exaggerated, or not even true?

  When we arrived at Bari, we met with the two larger convoys, the armies of Robert of Flanders and Stephen of Blois. A huge armada of Pisan, Genoese and Venetian ships was waiting for us, but the captains advised us that the autumn gales of the Adriatic were too great a risk and suggested we sit and wait for the spring. That was easier said than done but, with his typical calm efficiency, Robert made a detailed plan which the other two leaders were happy to accept.

  To prevent us swamping the local population and resources, we retreated far into the woods of the hilly hinterland to make camp, and only quartermasters and stewards were allowed to Bari to buy provisions in the markets. Most of our food we would find for ourselves in the forests and rivers, and we would make our own entertainment.

  After an uneventful but surprisingly cold winter gorging ourselves on fish and game, we finally crossed the Adriatic and landed in Durazzo in late February 1097. There we met two more huge caravans of Crusaders: the knights of Bohemond of Taranto, who had sailed from Brindisi; and the biggest army of all, the formidable collection of zealots and soldiers of fortune under the command of Raymond of Toulouse and his son, Bertrand, who had chosen to cross the plains of northern Italy and follow the Adriatic coast from Trieste.

  We used the old Roman road from Durazzo to Constantinople and made good progress despite the now gargantuan scale of our army, a host of over 60,000. Despite our best efforts, Count Raymond was impetuous and cared little for the peasant communities we were passing. We descended on them like a plague of locusts, leaving in our wake fields, barns and markets bare of anything edible or useful.

  Discipline began to decline and soon money was no longer left in exchange for goods; they were simply stolen. Whores weren’t rewarded for their services, and eventually were discarded altogether in favour of the rape of local women.

  Alexius, the Emperor of Byzantium, had sent emissaries and small units of the Imperial Guard to greet us in Durazzo, no doubt to keep an eye on us. Understandably, these men tried to prevent the looting and, inevitably, violent clashes followed, among the worst of which took place in the Ancient Greek city of Thessaloniki, one of Byzantium’s most important centres of trade and learning.

  Although we insisted that the army camp outside the city, many of the young knights were restless and knew that, like any other thriving port, Thessaloniki’s waterfront would have available all the diversions a saddle-weary soldier would require. By mid-evening on the first night, the noise of mayhem was already drifting up the hillsides of the city. Most of our leadership was indifferent to the problem, but Robert asked me to mount my contingent and bring order to the city. He gave me two of his conrois to add his authority to our presence.

  What we found when we arrived in the narrow streets of the docks area was akin to a battleground. The Emperor’s men had scattered to the hills, intimidated by the huge number of ill-disciplined Christians. Shops and warehouses were ablaze, carts were piled high with anything of value, and bodies were strewn everywhere. The brothels were empty – the girls had presumably recognized the danger signs and left – but women were screaming from every direction as our valiant Christian Crusaders marauded through the streets, kicking down doors and looking for women and girls.

  I organized small squads of a dozen men, with a senior knight leading each one, and sent them on street-by-street missions to stop the looting and rape. Their task was unpleasant, but not difficult, as most of the miscreants were so drunk they were unable to put up much of a fight. Adela was a particularly effective admonisher, kicking and punching the men until they did her bidding but dealing gently with the women she found, making sure that someone was on hand to take care of them.

  We organized carts to transport the men back to camp in disgrace, and we helped the locals to identify their belongings and then returned what was left of them. Sadly, as in the examples from central Europe, it was Thessaloniki’s Jewish community which bore the brunt of the crimes. The docks area was a Jewish enclave and, once again, they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  As we got close to Constantinople, the final groups of Crusaders joined us – Germans, north Europeans and Lotharingians, led by Duke Godfrey of Bouillon – making us into an army over 80,000 strong.

  Both Duke Godfrey and Count Raymond had had difficult journeys, beset by indiscipline, poor morale and clashes with local communities. Robert called several Councils of War to try to restore discipline, but each ended in chaos as the rival lords argued every point. I tried hard to use common sense in the debates and argued vociferously for unity. I think my words won me some admirers, but they made little difference to the outcome. Obduracy ruled – egos were too big to listen to reason.

  When we reached Byzantium’s fabled capital, we found its gates barred against us and an envoy from Emperor Alexius waiting to escort us to an audience with the man who wore the Purple of Rome – a ruler whose empire was over 1,200 years old and who stil
l thought of himself as Roman.

  Just as we called the Byzantines ‘Greeks’ because of their language and affiliation to the Eastern Church, they called western Europeans ‘Latins’ because of our use of the Latin language for all our formal documents and because of our adherence to the Church of Rome. Although it had been only forty years since the Great Schism between the two Churches, it looked like it was going to be a permanent rupture in the faith.

  All the senior command staffs of the Crusader armies were summoned, and Robert managed to obtain places for Adela and Estrith in the entourage as interpreters. The cream of European aristocracy – over 200 dukes, counts and knights, and some of their wives and daughters – were escorted through the gates of the world’s most magnificent city and seated in royal carriages to be given a ceremonial entrance.

  Horns and trumpets signalled the beginning of the procession as a company of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, the legendary Varangian Guard, led the procession. The entire route was lined with soldiers from the many themes of the Byzantine army: Macedonians, Thracians, Thessalonians and men recruited from as far away as Cyprus, Mesopotamia and Crete.

  We ‘Latin Princes’ were people used to the best that money could buy, but none of us had seen anything on such a scale or possessed of such opulence and grandeur.

  Shaped like a triangle pointing at the sea, the city was surrounded by water on two sides. On the landward side, it was defended by not one but two mighty walls – each five miles long, sixteen feet thick and over seventy feet high – with huge open spaces in between. It was impossible to imagine them ever being breached.

  We were told that more than half a million people lived in the city, ten times the number of inhabitants in the biggest cities in the West. We had seen Rome, and the superb basilica of St Peter’s, but most of the population lived in modest wooden homes amidst the crumbling remains of the city’s former imperial glory. But Constantinople was awash with magnificent palaces, churches and public buildings; its homes were full of the finest furnishings, marbles and mosaics; its people were dressed in the finest cottons and silks and adorned in gold and precious gems.