Alternate Generals (13 page)

The day was hot. They had been on the road from Antioch to Jerusalem since midnight. Louis had allowed the women to alight for refreshment only twice, and Eleanor had begun to feel every splinter, every grain of dust, as though they had become part of her body. She was tall for a woman, and slim, so that her bones were too long for the box, and she had too little padding to protect her from the bumping and swaying of her litter. Her thoughts were as uncomfortable as her body. She thought of the last coherent conversation she had had with Louis, in the regal hall in her uncle Raymond's palace in Antioch.

There she had folded her hands together on the embroidered silk tablecloth and looked up patiently at her sovereign lord. Louis was a thin young man made even thinner and more ascetic looking by the privations suffered by his army since they had left Paris eight months before.

"Louis, I will stay here in Antioch with my uncle. There is no earthly reason for us to go on so soon. Jerusalem has waited these four years. It can wait another month until we're at proper strength."

"We are at the strength we will be," he had said, shaking his head sadly but with an air of resolve. "Our infantry has been absorbed by the infidel at Satalia. They will not be coming to our aid."

"Leaving you with what?" Eleanor had asked, quickly calculating what remained when one subtracted the largest part of the forces that had followed them from France. "The barons and knights? That is not enough to throw against the walls of Jerusalem."

"It will be, with the aid of the other kings and princes," Louis had insisted. "To free the Holy City at last!"

When that dreamy light burned in his eyes, Eleanor knew that nothing she said would sink in properly, but she tried all the same.

"Louis, you could have the strength of my uncle Raymond's Poitevins behind you, if you but delayed for a short time. Edessa is here, on the very border of Antioch. It guards the northern reaches of the Holy Land. Raymond will throw his armies in with yours, once the Turk has been driven away from the borders. Otherwise, he cannot leave here to aid Jerusalem. Help Uncle Raymond. Once his concerns are dealt with, he will help you with yours. It will be for the greater glory of God if all of the Holy Land is free and Frankish once again."

Louis frowned, and the dreamy light became one of anger. "Uncle me no uncles, madam!" he snapped, and she remembered how his temper, never well tethered, could range from peace to fury in a moment. "It seems more for the glory of Poitou than God that your uncle asks you to intercede with me."

"He did not ask me! It seems only good sense, if you will look at the greater scope of things."

"My dear one, what could be greater than to free the most sacred sites from the ravages of the infidel? It could be for the good of your soul, if only you would show the proper attitude," Louis protested.

"My soul shows considerable respect for the Holy Land. If you recall, I took the cross myself, from the very hands of our dear Pope Eugenius, but Louis, one thing at a time. Jerusalem is not in immediate peril; Edessa is! If you allow the Turk to come in, you will find it hard to get him out again. You can't turn your back on an open border."

"It seems to me that if Prince Raymond's motives were pure," Louis had said acidly, "then he would be eager to restore the county to Joscelin or his heirs, but my counselors say that once the principal towns of Edessa are recovered, they will be added to Antioch. I am not interested in enlarging his holdings. He has plenty of land—far beyond what his expectations could have brought him as a younger son."

"If you have been listening to the gossip, my husband, you will have heard that Joscelin is no fit steward," Eleanor had said. "He left the citadel unguarded. My Amazons and I could have done a better job myself. I would have ordered . . ."

Louis's eyebrows had lowered briefly. Eleanor had stopped and bit her tongue. Her last order, in February, had resulted in the deaths of many good men, and a night of terror for Louis and his knights. She had insisted that the advance guard and her ladies, highborn women called the Amazons as a tribute to their bravery in coming along on crusade with their queen, be moved from an arid tableland in Paphlagonia where Louis had ordered that they spend the night, to a comfortable and green valley within sight of the plateau. Because their forces had become separated in the course of the day, and Eleanor had not thought to have a scout remain behind, Louis came upon an empty encampment. While he cast around in confusion for the Queen and her party, the Frankish forces were set upon by Turks. Louis had climbed a tree and fought at bay until daylight, not knowing the fate of his Queen. The whisperers had held her fully responsible.

Louis had forgiven her, but not forgotten. He was angry with her, as angry as he had been frightened for her. Eleanor knew she was only partly to blame. She had since heard good counsel that the Turks had been watching them for some time, and only awaited their chance to attack the weakened Franks when their attention was elsewhere. God knew that the army, let alone the women, needed an oasis after the hard mountain passes. Only Louis would insist upon sleeping on a rock when there was soft grass within sight. She was sure he felt that if he mortified himself and them all in His name, God would eventually turn a loving face upon him again. Not that one could see much under the layers of dust he wore. Perhaps it kept off the fleas; but Eleanor was inclined to believe that his behavior was more of the self-imposed penance he was serving for the sack of the small town of Vitry. He had gone from an insecure, unworldly man-child to a king and general too soon. He had not learned moderation, of action or temper, until it was too late. Now he was as full of regrets as he had been of rage. It made him more uninteresting as a husband than he had been when they had married. At least Eleanor had had the well-being of her people in mind when she had acted. But the incident had devalued her currency with Louis, and he no longer listened to her. She tried her best arguments on her uncle's behalf, and all in vain.

She had feared her insistence would do little good. He was not interested in the periphery of the Holy Land, but its heart. In addition, Louis insisted his self-imposed penance for the sack of the town of Vitry and the burning of its cathedral with a thousand souls trapped inside could not be fulfilled in Antioch. It was the proper action of any Christian to defend the seat of the faith, as the Holy Father had asked. He must save Jerusalem itself to save his soul.

That was Louis all over, Eleanor thought. He always went for the core, never seeing what was on the outside of things. But she did not have to go with him to Jerusalem. Her Amazons, out of favor with the army, were becoming fractious, openly lamenting having come on crusade. Eleanor, who never gave up unless she was bested, was feeling weary herself. Her uncle Raymond was a kindred spirit, loving luxury and beauty. He invited her to stay in his realm and rest as long as she liked. Louis had other plans.

Louis disapproved of Antioch, filled with pagan gods alongside the trappings of the holy church. It seemed too prosperous, when it should have been more godly, as it was close to Jerusalem. He was jealous of Raymond, and openly scorned the mercantile air of a place so close to the holiest of holies. But they had had to leave their infantry behind in Satalia, and the most recent news told them that it would not be coming to their aid. It was incredible that Louis would still think he had the strength to aid Jerusalem. Only the barons, knights, and clergy had been able to afford to take ship with them. It seemed as though God had refined the army step by step, first depriving them of the German forces, then paring away more men in the disaster of Paphlagonia, then stripping them of all the common men-at-arms, leaving only the pure soul, of which Louis was the heart. Eleanor was reluctant, after starvation, hardship, and utter discomfort, to leave Antioch so soon.

She had wanted to come along because she was bored in Paris. It was not as beautiful or as cheerful as her duchy of Aquitaine. Her musicians and troubadours had been driven away from the palace, leaving her without the familiar sounds she had loved since childhood. Her brain was rotting away in her head from ennui. Danger, discomfort, hunger and heat, or no, riding on crusade was far more interesting than remaining behind on the Ile. Every hill, every river, every rock was new to her. Each day was a gift. She was never meant to be shut away in a box, like the other treasures of the crown, and she would not be. Sometimes she thought she was more of a man than Louis. She bit her tongue from ever voicing this even to the closest confidants among her ladies. Her Amazons, Eleanor thought with pride. How brave they had been to come with her, never turning back in the face of hardship—although she suspected that some came because they were as bored as she. Danger was more exciting than routine. And they were not without amusements; on the road she had troubadours and minstrels and acrobats, and everyone was happy. Constantinople had been eye-opening, giving her many ideas for improving the dreary and ancient royal palace. She would tell all to Abbe Suger, whom they had left behind as regent, a good friend of Eleanor's, who appreciated beauty, and would find joy in the refinements and culture of the East.

Her uncle had given them great gifts, fed them, restored them, and put at their service all the comforts and honors that Emperor Manuel had denied them of Constantinople. Eleanor's Amazons had shown amazing fortitude, but they were tired. And she had no wish to go back to dull Paris, not before she had seen all there was to see here.

Antioch was paradise with a French flavor. The gardens were astonishing, trade brought treasures from every corner of the world, culture if not in the same extravagant fashion as at the court of Byzantium, then still impressive. And Edessa was on the doorstep. Its fall threatened Antioch, which guarded the northern borders of the Holy Land. Jerusalem would still be at peril—its king had been calling for help for four years and more. It could wait until Damascus was rescued. The crusade had in fact been called to restore Edessa to Frankish rule. She tried to insist, even suggesting that she and her Poitevins and Aquitainians would stay to help Raymond. She would leave the dull Louis and his tedious kingdom and his hopeless crusade for a cause that would do some good. The Poitevins were her vassals, and would stay with her. That was when Louis acted.

At midnight the night before, Louis had come to her rooms, ordered her to pack her goods, and set his men-at-arms to watch and make certain she did no more. Her things were loaded in total disarray on the sumpter mule trains. They sneaked out of the city before Prince Raymond could be alerted. Eleanor had been awake ever since, angry, hurt, and plotting. Louis would not have had the intelligence to plan a lightning raid like that. She blamed Brother Odo, Louis's confessor, and the eunuch Thierry, who hated all women.

"Ho-oo!" A cry from outside her curtains startled her, and her litter swung to an uncomfortable halt. Louis's face, well-begrimed with soil and sweat, appeared between the drapes. His eyes wore that dreamy look again that told Eleanor he felt the salvation of his soul within grasp.

"We are within sight of Jerusalem, lady. You have time to make your toilet before we enter the Holy City."

Eleanor roused herself, feeling the sting of cramped muscles as she climbed out of the wooden litter. She shook out her long skirts. The dull blue was made duller by the ochre haze that floated everywhere, and her gold embroideries had faded to tan.

The road dust was settling around them in a great cloud as Eleanor alighted. She took a deep breath. Polluted as it was, the air was still sweeter than inside the little box that was her prison. Around them, the sweet, heavy scent of dark green olive trees and that perfume that she could only identify as the odor of the Orient swam, raising her naturally buoyant spirits from the depths to which they had fallen.

"Are you all right, your majesty?" Berthe, one of her ladies-in-waiting, ran to her side. The girl's face was moist with sweat, and her clothes were crumpled. It was for love of her queen that she had come along. Only Eleanor was forced to come.

"I am well now," Eleanor said, straightening her back. "Like any other living thing, I need sunlight to thrive." Two by two from the other litters, the rest of the Amazons came out, stretching sore backs and legs: Sybille, Countess of Flanders; Faydide of Toulouse; Torqueri of Bouillon, daughter of one of the most famous knights who had fought in the first crusade. They looked weary but excited.

"We are here, mesdames!" Faydide said. She was younger than Eleanor, and still had a girl's high spirits. "We have accomplished our journey to the Holy City! The salvation of our souls is assured."

"Praise be to God," said Sybille. She was the half-sister of the late King of Jerusalem.

The Amazons mustered themselves to enter Jerusalem in style. Escorted by the Knights Templar, they rode through the ancient walls wearing their white plumes and gold-painted boots, backs straight and chins held proudly. One would never know they had ridden a thousand miles in the most terrifying conditions. In contrast, Louis came into the city wearing a simple sackcloth robe and bearing his palmer's staff. The Frankish army was welcomed by the Queen Melisende and the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Eleanor instantly sensed a kindred spirit in the Queen of Jerusalem. She was a brave woman who had held the kingdom after her husband's death in regency for her small son, Baldwin. Melisende admired Eleanor and her women for their fortitude. They bid fair to become good friends.

Eleanor was interested in all new sights. After taking refreshment with the queen, she rode through the Holy City with her women, soaking up the atmosphere with a sense of deep accomplishment. No other woman could do what she had done.

Yet, she was still a prisoner. That night, her door was locked from the outside, and she heard the clank of mail of the guards set to keep her within. The following day, she donned her Amazon's garb once again for the meeting of princes that had been called at Louis's request. She wore her plumes partly to keep up her spirits, partly to see if she could start a new fashion, and lastly to see if she could get a response from Louis, who had ignored her since they arrived in Jerusalem the day before. Her spirits had revived somewhat in the sanctified air of the city, and she had no intention of being left out of negotiations that involved her vassals.