by Bell, Gradyn
By the time the boys were ready to go outside and join the crowds, the tilting had started. Already several knights had been ignominiously unhorsed to the greater glory of their victors, who could not help strutting around as they received the adulation of the crowds and particularly those ladies whose favours they wore. It was a noisy scene.
In the crowd, the boys, once more in the care of Guy’s nurse, could not hope to see their papa. Alicia was already in the stands with Marie de Joinville. A roof of gaily coloured silk had been improvised over the dais on which they sat. As long as the material wasn’t touched, it would keep off most of the rain. Great braziers stood by; already prepared for lighting should the weather turn colder.
As to the ladies themselves, when they were seated, Alicia noticed that Marie looked calmer than she had yesterday. In the last couple of days, she had seen many knights unseated but not injured, so was feeling a little less agitated for the safety of her husband. As always, Alicia was placid, serene in the knowledge of Simon’s skill on the field. Her tranquillity would soon be marred, however!
She looked up as a great roar went up from the crowd and Simon appeared at the far end of the lists. Caparisoned in the de Montfort colours, his great black destrier gleamed, the wetness of the day giving an added sheen to its already shining coat. In his right hand, Simon carried his great lance; in his left, his shield emblazoned with the great lion rampant of Leicester. What a proud sight he was! Even at this distance, his horse looked enormous, and he sat on it as proudly as any king. His opponent, who was positioned closer to Alicia, looked every bit as fearsome, and she noted with some apprehension that it was Thibaut himself who had been drawn against Simon. Neither of these two men was used to losing, and Alicia felt dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She knew no quarter would be given; both men were too proud—not only to give it, but to take it! This would be as real a battle as could be found off a battlefield.
The herald sounded the horn for the contest to begin, and the thunder of hooves filled the air, drowning out even the roar of the crowd. There was a mighty crash as lance met shield, but the horses galloped to the end of the lists, where they turned to continue the contest. Simon caught Alicia’s gaze as he turned his huge mount around at the end of the concourse. He tilted his lance towards her in a salute and spurred his horse on again. The great beast reared up and in one fluid motion flew towards Thibaut’s oncoming lance.
The suspense was unbearable; Alicia closed her eyes. But it was soon over. With a powerful thrust of his lance, and before Simon even saw it coming, Thibaut knocked him from his horse. The applause for the victor was thunderous, for he was a popular and brave young man. He waved to the crowd in acknowledgement before quickly dismounting to help Simon’s squire haul his master from his inelegant and dangerous position beneath the horse’s hooves.
“Well done, Thibaut.” Simon said grudgingly, looking up at the victor. He was not pleased, especially since the mount he rode, which was one of his best, was now forfeit to his host. But there was little he could do in the circumstances, especially as he was Thibaut’s guest.
“You rode well,” Thibaut rejoined, “but you were no match for my new lance. You must look at it later. That German armourer balanced the tip for me and it is much easier to carry now. I saw the quality of his work last night when you showed us your boy’s armour. It seems an early visit to his tent this morning was worthwhile.”
Simon did his best not to scowl, but he despised losing. He knew very well that Thibaut was not the soldier that he, himself was, and he determined to have a look at the lance later on.
Later, when he was in his tent having his armour removed Alicia appeared. For once she was flustered, her usual calm having deserted her. With several years of marriage behind her, she knew that nothing she could say would restore Simon’s pride—which was all that appeared to be bruised—but, nevertheless, she was solicitous when she spoke to him. “My Lord, it was ill luck that dogged you today.”
“’Twas not ill luck,” Simon growled, “but ill judgement. I deserved to be unhorsed because my armour was not prepared properly. Thibaut had his lance rebalanced this morning. That armourer found a way to lighten the weight by some means or other. I should have had the wit to consult him myself. I was in his tent only yesterday, getting Amaury’s armour!” He paused. “Where’s my Squire?” he roared. “He should have checked it, too!”
Alicia trembled for the fate of the squire, who should have better attended his master’s equipment. She knew Simon’s temper of old. He did not suffer fools gladly, even if he himself was the fool!
Their discussion was cut short by a great commotion outside the pavilion. Looking out, they saw a man dressed in wet grey rags wriggling in the restraining hands of two men at arms.
“What’s going on?” Simon called.
“It’s this scoundrel, milord,” one of the men called back. “One of the stallholders just saw him steal a purse from one of the ladies. We gave chase, milord, and have captured him.” The soldier looked mighty pleased with himself, no doubt already envisioning the reward he would receive.
“Oh, please, milord,” the pickpocket begged. “I’ve never done this before, but my family is starving. I have five mouths to feed and nothing to feed them with.” He held up the purse with its few coins rattling inside. “Please take it back,” he pleaded.
By this time a crowd had gathered. There were murmurs of sympathy for the man. Many amongst those watching knew the pinch of an empty belly and the sound of a hungry child’s cry. The man positively shook with fear. It was not just a question of being brought before the law. A man accused of stealing might face a stiff enough penalty in front of the justices, but here on the estates of the Count of Champagne, Thibaut himself was the law and he was not noted for his leniency, young as he was.
“The judgement is not mine to make,” Simon said. “If it were, I would separate your nose from your face to teach you a well deserved lesson. Have you not heard the words ‘thou shalt not steal’?”
“I have, milord, but I cannot abide the sound of my children’s cries.” The man looked pitiful in his rags as he wrung his hands.
“Take him to milord Thibaut.” Simon motioned to the men at arms. “Let him decide. It’s not my judgement to make, but had you been on my estates at Montfort, you would now be missing your nose.” With that, Simon stalked back into his tent.
“Papa, would you really have cut off his nose?” Amaury asked. He had pushed through the crowd to reach his father. “Would you, Papa?”
“Yes indeed, my boy. It is the only way to keep discipline. Punishments should fit the crime. By rights his hand should be struck off, but then he would never be able to earn his living. Far kinder to take his nose, don’t you think? Everyone can then recognise what he is and avoid giving him the opportunity to steal again.”
Amaury considered this. “But Papa, if his children are hungry and he can get no work, what is he to do? It doesn’t seem fair!”
“Life is never fair, Amaury, something you must learn. If you are to be a great soldier and a great lord, you must be cruel to be kind, for the likes of him, given the opportunity, would do the same thing again. We would be back in the same position we are now, and two people would have been robbed.”
Amaury couldn’t argue the logic of this but went away disquieted at the thought that the poor man was soon to lose his nose. In fact, however, the thief did not lose his nose, largely because Thibaut’s wife prevailed upon him to give the poor wretch another chance. Her pleadings and his own good humour at his victory over Simon won the day. The man was given a job in the enormous kitchens of the chateau, where there was never a shortage of food. His family would have fuller bellies than they could ever remember. At a stroke, Thibaut’s family had gained the most loyal servants in the Chateau!
Later that afternoon, Fulques de Neuilly began to preach the sermon that would have such far reaching effects in the years to come. The rain had stopped and a hug
e crowd had gathered. Fulques’ reputation as a speaker had preceded him, and the throng of people assembled there looked forward to his fiery brand of preaching. They all knew that although he preached sin and forgiveness and the ideal of living the good life, he did not always altogether follow his own teachings. Still, the crowd thought of him as one of their own who had risen high in the ranks of preferment in the church, and they applauded him for his success, all the while wishing they themselves could do as well!
Fulques had hardly started when he began to harangue the crowd. He had been sent here with a mission, which was to recruit as many knights and their retainers as possible for the next Holy War in Jerusalem. It was fewer than ten years since the last Crusaders had been sent packing from the Holy City with a flea in their ears. Jerusalem itself had been retaken by the Muslims, and Richard Coeur de Lion, the English king, had returned to England after being in captivity for a year and after a huge ransom had been raised to effect his release. The whole affair had cost the nobility of France in particular, a great deal of money. Many of them had been killed in the fighting or, worse still, had died of dysentery before they even reached Jerusalem. There had been no appreciable gain in the aim of securing Jerusalem for the Christians. Most Frenchmen at the time deemed that the Crusades, if not a lost cause, was one they were not interested in fighting. It was Fulques’ mission to change their minds! Pope Innocent the Third had given him very precise instructions as to what he wished to happen that day at Ecry-sur-Aisne, the site of the tournament.
It was not long before Fulques’ powerful preaching met with results. After the mass had been said, he began his sermon. Listening to his sermon, there was not one knight or soldier in the crowd who did not hear the call of their fellow Christians’ suffering in Jerusalem. It was full of stories of atrocities committed by the infidels upon Christians and the Holy City. His call to rise up and follow the cross met with a success beyond Fulques’ dreams. He had hardly any need to recount the stories of the horrors that would befall those who did not heed his call or who prevented others from heeding it. All men in the crowd—and indeed every woman—were completely at his mercy. Before the daylight faded, a great number of nobles, together with their knights, squires, men at arms and other retainers, had taken the vow to defend to the death the Holy City of Jerusalem. It was a solemn vow, taken before God and sworn over a relic of the true cross, a vow which a Crusader would never break.
It was important for one nobleman to come forward to spur others into action. Thibaut, Count of Champagne, was the first to take his vows. He was followed in quick succession by most of the others who were young enough and for whom the adventure had some appeal. Geoffrey de Joinville went, as did Gauthier, yesterday’s fallen hero in the joust. Simon de Montfort was not far behind, much to the chagrin of Alicia, who knew she dare not say anything. It was not her place to interfere in the proposed great adventure. Her job would be to stay at home and run the de Montfort estates until her husband’s return.
Before the day was out, Thibaut and his brother-in-law, Baudouin, had set themselves the task of organizing the great expedition. A delegation would be sent to Venice to negotiate transport to the Holy Land for the expected thirty thousand men who, the leaders thought, would now answer the Pope’s call. In the meantime, every man would return to his own estates to do what was deemed necessary to prepare for the expedition.
One thing was certain: a small boy was doomed to disappointment because his father would no longer have the time to accompany him to Leicester. It was several days later, back in the Ile de France at Montfort, that Alicia broke the news to Amaury of his father’s imminent departure for Venice. As she had expected, the small boy was very disappointed but had guessed that something had changed because of the charged atmosphere about the chateau.
The men had no idea how long they would be away. The preparations, which involved not only provisioning the army but also preparing the chateau for the absence of its lord, took a great deal of organisational skills. It was what Alicia had trained for all her life and she accepted her responsibility calmly. Simon knew his lands and the peasants who lived and worked on it would be in safe hands. One of the things he most admired about Alicia was her cool head and her ability to see right to the heart of a question. He was more worried about Amaury, who for days had been dogging his every footstep, begging to be allowed to go along with his father’s pages as far as Venice. The knights and squires and other men at arms would continue onwards to the Holy Land with de Montfort, but the younger pages would stay behind to await their masters. Amaury begged to be one of them.
It was a point of heated discussion in the private chamber of the de Montfort couple that evening. Simon was inclined to let Amaury have his wish and follow in the baggage train of the army. Horrified at the thought, Alicia was adamant that her son not go. It was madness, she had said, but Simon had countered this with the argument that it would be the same training Amaury would have received in Leicester. Only the venue was different.
“Only the venue is different!” Alicia voice was raised in anger. “How can you say that? This is Venice we are talking about, and Amaury is not yet nine! There are all manner of diseases he could catch as well as being exposed to cut-throats. And what about the camp followers? Are you seriously suggesting my son be exposed to them? Those women are no better than they should be, even though they pretend to be there as cooks!”
She was red in the face by now, a most unusual occurrence for this otherwise calm woman. Simon knew he must tread carefully. He was depriving this lioness, who stood before him, of her cub. It had been difficult enough to obtain her consent to let Amaury go to Leicester. She had agreed only because she knew of the kindness of the Countess of Leicester, a cousin. She had known that her son would be safe with her in England. Venice was another matter altogether. It was an unknown to Alicia and, therefore, she greatly feared what might happen.
“I think it will be good for Amaury. He will be with the other young pages and have plenty of things to do to occupy his time. If you like, we could send Guy’s nurse to look after him,” Simon added, knowing full well that Alicia would never allow her son to be so shamed in front of all the other boys.
Alicia bit her lip. She was slowing coming to realise that this discussion had been academic. Simon had intended all along, since the day of Fulques’ sermon, that Amaury should go with him. Nothing she could say or do would change his mind. She knew him well enough to know that once he had made a decision, for good or ill, he stuck to it. “I suppose you had better tell him the news then,” she said. She had the grace to know when she was beaten. “You know I do not like it, and be it on your head should anything untoward befall him.”
Simon caught her to him. How he loved and admired this woman! He knew what her capitulation in this matter meant to her. He wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “I vow to you, my lady, that I will protect his life with my own and that I will bring him back safe and sound when this business is over. Now, let us go and break the news to him together.”
To say that Amaury was delighted by the news would be an understatement. He flung his arms about first one parent and then the other and almost dancing with joy, ran to tell the pages with whom he would be travelling. Everyone crowded round him, patting him on the back and punching him in the chest.
No one noticed the small boy who stood alone in the corner. Guy was losing his big brother and no one seemed to care.
Chapter Six
Occitania, South of France
1200 - 1201 AD
The Occitanians
It was summer before Arnaud could bring himself to return to the cottage in Ambres where his wife had died. He ambled slowly along the dusty road leading to the village, kicking pebbles out of the way as he went, trying desperately to put off his arrival at the cottage where he had known happiness for such a short time. He noticed a roof tile was missing, and the lean-to shed where his wife had kept her pig and a few chickens was han
ging precariously off the end wall of the house. His mind registered that he would need to fix that before winter set in. It was then that he realised suddenly that he didn’t really care what happened to the building. There was nothing left of the old life worth preserving.
As he pushed against the door, the rusted metal hinges groaned in protest, warning him to keep out. He wanted to turn away, to go back to Lavaur, his courage deserting him. Let someone else do it, he thought. He pulled himself together sharply. He owed his dead wife this last duty.
He blinked as the sun shone through the door opening, revealing the thick layer of dust that coated everything in the room. No one had thought to clear the fireplace of ashes before the house had been closed up, and the winter winds had done their damage, blowing in through the hole in the roof, which, in happier times had let out the smoke from the fire.
Although it was still quite warm outside, it was dark and damp inside. Arnaud fancied he could smell death and hastily opened the side door leading to the lean-to. The past winter, although not cold, had delivered an unseasonable amount of rain, and he could see the black mould climbing up the lime-washed walls. How desolate it all seemed now. Where had the joyful times gone? Why did only the sad memories remain?
Forcing himself to enter the small room where his wife had died, Arnaud remembered the last time he had been there. In his imagination he could still see his wife’s lifeless body. He wiped away the tears that had begun to flow at the sad memories. How easy it is to plan our lives and have them destroyed in a single day, he thought. Shuddering, he left the room to begin the thankless task of clearing it of anything that reminded him remotely of his past.
It was a small enough chore to rid himself of his former possessions; the couple had not owned a great deal. What furniture they had managed to acquire during their short life together was soon disposed of to the gaggle of nosy neighbours who had congregated outside the cottage when they saw the door had been opened. They were all well-meaning, the men shaking Arnaud heartily by the hand, the women kissing him. Berthe, the midwife’s daughter, was there, wiping her work-reddened hands on her apron. He noticed she was pregnant once more. This must be her fourth, he thought. She was still a handsome woman and seemed to bloom during her pregnancies, even though life with her husband was far from easy. He was known as the laziest man in Ambres, preferring to sit outside their cottage and pass the time of day with the passers-by—not that there were many of those in Ambres! Still, he was always ready for a chat should the occasion demand it.