God's Warrior

by Hilary Green

  Soon after the feast Bohemond returned, grim-faced and more obdurate than ever. His agreement with Raymond, brokered with such difficulty by their friends, had finally broken down and he immediately ordered the expulsion of all Raymond’s Provençal adherents from the city. Raymond followed and a final attempt was made to reconcile the two men at a council held in the church of St Peter, on the very spot where the Holy Lance had been unearthed.

  Raymond rose to his feet to address the assembled counts. ‘We swore upon the Cross of Our Lord, upon the Crown of Thorns and many holy relics, that we would not hold without the consent of the emperor any city or castle in his dominion.’

  Bohemond leapt up at once, waving a scroll of parchment. ‘My lord of Toulouse has forgotten that since then he has put his name to another agreement. This is the document we all signed before the final battle for this city, agreeing that whoever should be the first to enter it should hold it for himself.’

  Voices were raised all round the assembled company, some insisting on the primacy of their original oath to Alexios, others supporting Bohemond’s claim.

  Raymond spoke over the confusion. ‘Let us find a way to resolve this once and for all. I am willing to submit to the judgement of my peers, my Lord Godfrey, Lord Robert of Flanders and Lord Robert of Normandy. I will abide by whatever they decide, provided Lord Bohemond agrees to accompany us to Jerusalem.’

  Ranulph, present in his usual role of interpreter, looked from one to the other. In spite of his growing doubts he had honoured his oath to Bohemond up to now, but he found himself more and more attracted to Raymond’s position. He looked at his liege lord, hoping that he would see the force of the argument. What mattered, above everything, was their primary purpose of liberating Jerusalem. Bohemond must acknowledge that.

  Bohemond rose to his feet. ‘I have said all I have to say. Antioch is mine and I intend to hold it. But consider this, my lords. Would you leave the city undefended, so that the Turks can take possession of it again? That would allow them to harass your rear on the march to Jerusalem and cut off your retreat when you wanted to return. Alexios has forfeited our fealty by failing to come to our aid. What the rest of you choose to do is up to you. I am staying here.’

  The council broke up without agreement and Ranulph returned home torn by conflicting loyalties. A day later a proclamation was circulated amongst all the knights crowded into the city. It had been decided that every man was now released from whatever oath of fealty he had made and was free to take service with any lord who would have him. Marc and Ranulph walked together on the city walls.

  ‘What will you do?’ Marc asked.

  Ranulph shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Have you decided?’

  ‘Yes. I shall offer my services to Raymond. I didn’t endure everything we have endured to kick my heels in Antioch. I shall not rest until I have walked the streets where Our Lord walked and worshipped at the Holy Sepulchre where he was buried and from which he rose again. I can see that it is different for you. You have Mariam to consider.’

  Ranulph sighed heavily. It was true that he was sorely tempted to put his oath to Bohemond above the promise he had made when he took the Cross, but he knew that that would only be an excuse. He had found rare contentment in his marriage and his new family, the first he had ever known. He was coming to know Mariam’s children by Hamid and, after some initial suspicion, they were beginning to accept him as their new father. Then there was his work. He recognised that Bohemond, like his uncle Roger of Sicily, was more interested in conquest than administration, but there was satisfaction in seeing the great city returning to order and prosperity – and beyond that there was the possibility that Mariam had held out of returning to his former life as a merchant. If he was no longer bound by his oath to Bohemond, what was there to prevent him from doing that? But he knew that, in spite of all these tempting prospects, if he failed to complete the great quest on which he had set out he would never be completely at rest.

  ‘You are right,’ he told Marc, ‘we must not lose sight of our great purpose. Shall we seek out Lord Raymond together?’

  Raymond was more than willing to accept their oaths and rumours soon began to circulate that he had bribed some of the other leaders to accompany him to Jerusalem. Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Normandy were said to have been offered 10,000 solidi, while Robert of Flanders had settled for 6,000 and Tancred for 5,000. The combined forces were to gather at Ma’arat. Ranulph went to take leave of Bohemond with some trepidation, expecting one of the Norman’s famous rages. Instead, Bohemond fixed him with an icy stare.

  ‘You, too? So much for loyalty! Go and throw your life away on the walls of Jerusalem, if you feel you must. But do not expect a welcome from me when you return – if you return.’

  That gave Ranulph pause for thought. If Bohemond was going to retain his hold on Antioch, his own chances of making a successful career, with that city as his base, might founder on his one-time lord’s hostility. But that was all in the future and he put it to the back of his mind. What he had to do now was much harder. He had to explain his decision to Mariam.

  She nodded with her usual self-possession. ‘Of course. We have always known that you would have to go. I shall still be here when you return.’

  On an impulse, he took from round his neck the jewel Bohemond had given him as his reward and slipped the chain over her head. ‘It will not be long now before ships can sail again, and the money I have sent for will reach you. But if there should be any delay, the sale of this will serve to keep you and the children until it arrives.’

  She took the great ruby in her hand and gazed down at it. ‘I shall not part with it. It will lie against my heart until such time as you can lie there in its place.’ She looked up and he saw the tears she had been suppressing rise to her eyes. ‘God keep you, my dearest dear, and send you back to me.’

  He took her in his arms and felt as though the last long kiss was drawing the very spirit out of his body and mingling it with hers.

  In Ma’arat knights and soldiers thronged the streets, filled every house and camped in every corner. It was a swarming, uneasy mass, as restless as an ant’s nest but lacking the insects’ organisation and purpose. Food was still hard to come by, the land was in the grip of winter, and still the leaders bickered about the best course of action. One day, Ranulph was sheltering with Marc and some others in a filthy tavern when they heard shouting in the street outside. Boots clattered past as men raced in the direction of the city walls. Following the throng, they came upon an extraordinary sight. A band of men armed with hammers and picks had mounted the walls and were engaged in prising loose the stones and throwing them down.

  ‘What do they think they are doing?’ Marc demanded. ‘Do they intend to leave the city defenceless?’

  ‘I believe that may be exactly their intention,’ Ranulph said, with a surge of excitement. ‘They mean to force the princes’ hands. If Ma’arat is defenceless they will have no choice but to move on.’

  A company of Raymond’s personal guards came clattering along the street but by this time others had joined the men on the wall, amidst much cheering, and were scrabbling at the stones with any tool they could lay their hands on. When the commander shouted to them to come down he was greeted with jeers and a man yelled back,

  ‘Tell the Lord Raymond that we are going to Jerusalem, with or without him. If he doesn’t want to be left here to face the Turks on his own he’d better make up his mind.’

  At a hastily convened meeting of the council of princes Peter Bartholomew railed at them for their delay and declared that Adhemar had again appeared to him in a dream and told him that God was greatly displeased. Raymond immediately declared that he would bow to the will of the Almighty and he begged the other lords to do the same. Two days later, barefoot and unarmed, dressed in the simple robe of a penitent pilgrim and followed by Peter bearing the Holy Lance and priests intoning psalms, he led the army out of Ma’arat and set out on the road to
Jerusalem.

  As the great train of horses and riders, footsoldiers and camp followers, camels and mules and oxen drawing carts wound its way through the dun-coloured hills Ranulph felt a lightening of his spirits. It had been a wrench leaving Antioch and the ensuing delay had almost convinced him that he had made the wrong decision, but now that they were moving there was a new sense of purpose all through the army. The men sang as they marched, psalms and hymns when any of the nobles were within earshot, ribald versions of popular folk songs when they were not. As day followed day, however, the singing became less hearty, as it came home to them all that their optimistic ‘we’re going to Jerusalem’ involved crossing vast distances of unknown territory. Even if they did not have to fight their way through, Ranulph estimated, it would take weeks or months to get there.

  They did not have to fight. The Franks’ reputation for brutality had spread wide and the emirs of the cities they passed sent messengers offering terms of truce and gifts of money, horses and supplies. But they were not permitted to march straight to the Holy City. When they reached Arqa Raymond called a halt and gave orders to prepare a siege.

  ‘Why? Why? Arqa is no threat to us. Why is he doing this?’ Marc fumed.

  Ranulph ran his hand wearily through his hair. ‘Greed. Bohemond robbed him of the overlordship of Antioch and Raymond is determined to carve himself out a fiefdom somewhere. Just south of us here is Tripoli. It’s a wealthy city. My guess is Raymond has his eye on adding it to his dominions and he needs to make Arqa safe before he attempts it.’

  ‘Has he not got lands enough in France?’ Marc demanded. ‘He is by far the wealthiest among the nobles. Why does he need more?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Ranulph said, thinking, ‘he would argue that if we succeed in capturing Jerusalem we must hold it. There would be no point in leaving it to be reconquered by the Egyptian Fatimids or the Turks. So we shall have to establish a permanent presence in the region. Logically, that must include the cities that command the trade routes. There is something to be said for having Tripoli under Christian control.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Marc muttered, ‘but I didn’t take the cross to enrich great lords like Raymond.’

  ‘Nor did I,’ Ranulph agreed. ‘But what can we do?’

  They were not the only ones to voice discontent. After a furious row in the council meeting Tancred declared that, unless the march was resumed at once, he was going to return toAntioch to rejoin Bohemond. Raymond refused to give in and Tancred gathered his men and marched back the way they had come. The siege settled into a familiar routine. There was one comfort. Spring had arrived, food was plentiful and there was good grazing for the animals. Nevertheless, the simmering discontent threatened always to erupt into out and out rebellion.

  Messengers arrived from Alexios. To the disgust of Raymond and the other leaders they revealed that he had been on his way to relieve the army besieging Antioch when he met Stephen of Blois at Philomelion, and Stephen had told him that the Franks were all certainly dead from starvation, or at the hands of Kerbogha, so there was no point in proceeding. Stephen had then set sail for France. Now, Alexios had been informed that the Franks had, in fact, achieved a mighty victory and were pressing on towards their goal. He sent word that he was coming to join them and they should wait for him. Once again, dissent broke out among the leaders. Some urged that they should stay until Alexios joined them; others insisted that he had let them down before and could not be trusted to keep his word.

  While they argued and delayed they were joined by a new force under Godfrey of Bouillon, who had refused to be bribed into becoming Raymond’s vassal. With him came Robert of Flanders and, to Ranulph’s surprise, Tancred. Bohemond, it seemed, had originally set out with them, but had changed his mind and returned to Antioch. Godfrey was all for pushing on towards Jerusalem but Raymond was adamant. He would not leave until Arqa surrendered.

  Much of the princes’ anger was focussed on Peter Bartholomew, whose influence over Raymond was blamed for the count’s intransigence. It was clear to all those who attended the council that Raymond was completely in thrall to him and would not move unless he sanctioned it. As the days of Lent passed and Easter week drew closer Peter made harsher and harsher demands for penance and fasting to appease what he declared to be the wrath of God. Finally, he made an accusation that brought matters to a head. ‘Thousands’ among the Franks, he declared, were so sinful that Christ had ordered that they be executed.

  The growing opposition to Peter had been led by the northern Franks and their principal spokesman was a priest called Arnulf of Chocques. When this latest demand was announced Arnulf rose to his feet in the council meeting.

  ‘Peter Bartholomew asks us to believe that he is especially favoured by God and receives these orders directly from Him. Let him prove it. I demand that he undergo ordeal by fire. If he survives, then I will believe that he is under the protection of the Almighty. If not, it will prove that he is, as I suspect, nothing more than a charlatan.’

  There was uproar and Raymond jumped to his feet shouting that he forbade such an insult to the man who had discovered the Holy Lance; but Peter rose and calmly announced that he was prepared to undergo any trial Arnulph liked to devise.

  The ordeal was set for Good Friday. Dry olive branches were gathered from all round the area and built up into two walls some eight paces long, almost the height of a man and only a foot apart. As the appointed time approached a great crowd gathered, held back by Raymond’s knights. Arnulph stood at one end of the corridor of branches, backed by clerics from the northern Frankish churches, while Raymond waited with his closest companions at the other. Behind him, a frenzied crowd of Peter’s supporters chanted psalms and prayed aloud. Torches were touched to the wood and within seconds both walls were alight, crackling and hissing, flames reaching skywards.

  Ranulph watched the preparations with his mind in turmoil. When the lance was first unearthed he had believed with all his soul that it was genuine. He had needed to believe, to be convinced that the discovery was a sign of God’s grace, and most importantly, since he had been present in the church, a sign that God had forgiven him. Later, he had begun to doubt. He had seen Adhemar’s scepticism and been infected by it, but had thrust it aside as showing a lack of faith. Then, when they had ridden out against Kerbogha with the lance as their talisman and the enemy had miraculously melted away, his conviction had returned. But recently he had been forced to recognise that Peter’s pronouncements had become increasingly unbelievable. He began to suspect that he was impelled less by Divine inspiration and more by a hysterical belief in his own infallibility. Now, he told himself, the truth would be revealed one way or another. If Peter survived the ordeal it would be incontrovertible proof that his visions came from God. Yet, common sense told him that no one could pass through that inferno and come out alive.

  Peter was brought out between two of Raymond’s men. He was bare foot and dressed only in a white shift, but as he faced the flames he stared ahead as if he did not see them. He had fasted, they had been told, for four days in preparation and his bare arms and legs looked as if they were no more than skin stretched over the bones. His lips were moving, in prayer Ranulph assumed, but there was something in that unnaturally blank face that filled him with horror.

  ‘God have mercy!’ Marc murmured from beside him, but it was an exclamation of distress rather than a plea on behalf of the man standing before them.

  There was a moment of silent tension and then Peter walked forward without hesitation and disappeared between the walls of flame. For several heartbeats it seemed that the whole crowd held their breath and then, miraculously, the slight figure appeared from the end of the tunnel, naked and blackened but still upright. A great roar broke from the throats of the watchers, some shouting praises to God, others voicing simple incredulity. The supporters massed behind Raymond broke through the guards and threw themselves at Peter, who disappeared in the mass of bodies. Moments later he reappea
red again, this time wrapped in the cloaks of Raymond’s guards and carried shoulder high out of the reach of the crowd.

  Ranulph watched him carried away with a strange numbness. What he had seen seemed so far beyond the bounds of belief that his mind was unable to encompass it.

  Marc touched his arm. ‘Ranulph?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It must be true … mustn’t it? He was speaking the word of God. To have survived that ….’

  Ranulph drew a long breath. He felt he should be rejoicing in the knowledge that what he had longed to believe was true; and yet there had been something unnatural and terrifying about the whole event. He quailed at the thought that Raymond would now believe it necessary to act upon the diatribes that had issued from Peter’s mouth in the last weeks. Was it possible that God had found so much fault with so many?

  He sighed and turned away. ‘It is not for us to judge. God works in a mysterious way.’

  That night he slipped out of the camp and made his way to the top of a small hill, where he fell on his knees. He tried to pray, but no longer knew what he was praying for. Was he hoping for a miracle, that Peter would survive and prove everything he had said was true? If so, would it not be a final, incontrovertible demonstration of God’s grace? Surely that was what he should wish for; but he could not deny the revulsion he had felt as he watched him walk into the fire. As dawn broke, he found his way to a sense of calm. Whether Peter was a true prophet or not, the Christians had somehow prevailed against Kerbogha; and he himself had been granted the few weeks of peace and the joy of Mariam’s love. That alone was a sign of God’s forgiveness. It was enough.

  For twelve days Peter’s supporters rejoiced; but the more sceptical commented on the fact that he had not shown himself. Rumours began to circulate that he lay at death’s door in Raymond’s tent. On the twelfth day an announcement was issued. Peter was dead; but the cause of his death had not been burns suffered during his ordeal. He had been crushed to death afterwards by his jubilant supporters,who had mobbed him in their exaltation.