A Blood Red Horse (12 page)

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.

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 overboard.

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.

At the end of September, the fleet sailed into port for a rendezvous in Sicily. The knights hung their shields over the sides of the ships and fixed standards and pennants to spearheads to announce their arrival. Sir Thomas and Gavin stood with the king as the oarsmen made a great froth and the sailors whooped and cheered.

“I have family business here,” Richard said. “And anyway, this island can provide us with a safe harbor and a rest.” Sir Thomas, who had grown weak during the journey, thanked God.

The halt turned out to be a long one. The crusaders spent the winter on the island, recuperating and restocking their supplies while King Richard dealt with prickly matters of state. Blood was shed as relations between the Sicilians and the crusaders, who were not overly polite in their treatment of the native people, grew increasingly bitter. Sir Thomas turned diplomat, and his new role meant that he failed to notice that Gavin, frustrated and bored, was taking up with new friends. He and Adam Landless now spent time gambling and drinking in the camp outside Messina. Adam was determined to win enough money to
buy another horse. He won one first from a knight called Roger de Soucy, but Roger soon won the horse back. Gavin accused him of cheating. It was only because the king decreed that men caught fighting would be executed that the matter did not come to blows.

William, who watched Gavin from a distance, did not tell his father what was going on. He simply spent less and less time in his brother's company. Instead, he spent more with the horses, riding all over the island. After so many weeks standing still, they reveled in the chance to stretch their legs and gallop in the sun.

News from the Holy Land began to trickle through to Messina. King Guy of Jerusalem, released by Saladin, was already besieging Acre. His actions were considered heroic. But as the crusaders prepared to celebrate the Christmas feast in Sicily, other news also filtered through. While Richard ate off gold plate and consumed fine wine, Guy and his men were so beset by famine that they were forced to eat their horses—heads, intestines, and all.

“Does the king not hear what we hear?” William asked his father. “Why are we not setting sail at once?”