At the Crossing Places (28 page)

T
WELVE LARGE TORCHES WERE BURNING IN THE
courtyard.

“But why?” I asked. “In broad daylight.”

Without breaking his pace, Lord Stephen turned and gave me a warning look, but that didn't stop me from thinking the count is wasting a great deal of tallow and tow, and instead of paying his chandler for buckets of fat, he could have been feeding the beggars crowding the steps outside his courtyard gate.

When we entered the hall, a servant bowed and led us to a large lead basin attached to the wall, and poured water over our hands, and presented us with a shaggy towel.

“We're not eating here, are we?” I said. “I washed my hands this morning.”

“Arthur!” said Lord Stephen under his breath, and he blinked disapprovingly.

“It's all so strange, sir,” I said.

The hall floor was covered not with rushes but woven mats, and over them were colored rugs decorated with circles and stars and crosses, and there was the most enormous fireplace you could step into, almost as large as my writing-room at Caldicot, with logs it would take four men to carry. On the long walls, two huge tapestries faced each other; one was a knight killing a dragon, the other
showed four men riding down a dusty track towards a distant city. Looking at it was somehow like looking at ourselves on our way here.

At the far end of the hall, there was a throng of knights, bishops, friars, courtiers, and servants, and I could see quite a number of squires.

Milon came forward and greeted us, and as we walked down the hall, I noticed a number of the knights and squires were wearing squares of white cloth on their chests or on their caps, each with a scarlet cross stitched on to it.

A whole group of squires turned and looked at me, and one of them said something. Then another pulled out his ears sideways, and they all laughed.

Lord Stephen took my arm. “Do you remember?” he began. “I, Arthur…”

“Yes, sir. I think so.”

The vow I've thought about all this year! The moment I've been waiting for so long. I am ready. I know I am. I have come to my crossing-place.

Count Thibaud and Countess Blanche were sitting side by side on a wooden dais. I've heard that everyone likes him, except his enemies. He does look rather odd, though, because he has already lost most of his fair hair, though he's only twenty-three, and you can see his brains behind his forehead. But there are lights in his eyes, and he keeps half-smiling.

The countess has the same sallow skin as the Saracen trader at Coucy, and she's the daughter of the king of Navarre. Thibaud mar
ried her in June last year, and Milon told us she's already pregnant with their second child. She has brown eyes and sits like a statue.

“You are ready?” Milon asked me quietly. “The squire he prepare the way.”

I looked at Lord Stephen, and he nodded, so I stepped up onto the creaking platform and dropped onto my right knee. Then the count opened his large hands, and I put mine between his…Inside my chest, my heart was banging.

Fulk at Caldicot, punching our pulpit with his fists and urging us all to take the Cross…practicing my Yard-skills against Alan, when he almost choked me…riding to Quabbs and choosing my wonderful Bonamy…being fitted out by Turold in my shining armor—sometimes, inside one breath, one moment, there's time enough to remember dozens of other moments…

But how can that be? Time can't change speed. It must be our sense of it that changes—we quicken or slow it with the levers of our thoughts and feelings.

“I, Arthur,” I began in quite a steady voice, “son of Sir William de Gortanore, squire to Lord Stephen de Holt, swear by Almighty God…”

All at once, I was aware of the silence widening around me.

“…that I will serve Count Thibaud of Champagne and be loyal to him, wheresoever he leads me. I acknowledge him as my true and only lord. I swear this by my squirehood. Let everyone bear witness!”

As soon as I said these words, everyone in the hall shouted, “We bear witness! We bear witness!”

“My lord,” I said in a clear voice. “I am your man.”

I felt Count Thibaud's hands tighten round mine, warm and quite bony. I looked up at him. His grey eyes were very serious, and we held each other's gaze.

“Arthur de Caldicot,” he said slowly.

My heart was so full. My mouth was dry. There were so many things I would have liked to ask and say, but instead I felt Count Thibaud firmly raising me by my wrists.

I bowed and backed down from the dais, and at once a grinning friar with no teeth fastened a scarlet cross to my tunic with a few stitches, and then I was passed from hand to hand through the throng. All the knights and the courtiers, the squires as well, they shook both my hands and laughed and slapped me on the back, and said things in French.

And then the silence widened again. I could see Lord Stephen kneeling…

Three Norman knights and their squires took the Cross after Lord Stephen, then two from Picardy, and then Count Thibaud stood up.

“Make no mistake,” he called out, first in French and then in good English, “God wills this crusade!”

Everyone in the hall stamped and shouted; I heard myself shouting.

“You have taken the Cross, and it's your duty to urge other men—knights, squires, foot soldiers, rich and poor—to join this crusade. Why? God wills it!”

Again, everyone in the hall clapped and shouted.

“And the Holy Father wills it. Pope Innocent! To exterminate
the pagans, to kill them or drive them out of Jerusalem, every single one of them. Some people say the pagans are ready to share Jerusalem with us. We can never agree to that. They're the enemies of God!”

But what about Salman, the Saracen trader? Surely he wasn't an enemy of God? And Ziryab, the wise singing teacher, and the Saracens who have written about the stars and medicines? If they're learned, how can they be so misguided, and enemies of God?

“If you choose me to be your leader, expect no easy decisions,” said the count. “Expect the right ones.”

The way he spoke was not nearly as passionate as the friar Fulk, but his warm resolve stirred and moved everyone. “In the watches of the night, you may have doubts. My manor! My wife and children! Have I done the right thing? Doubt,” said Count Thibaud, “is only human. But you know the Holy Father will pardon each of you for your sins, without penance. The way to heaven will be open for you.”

All around me, people were getting down onto their knees, crossing themselves and murmuring, “God be praised! God wills it!”

Lord Stephen put a hand on my shoulder. “I do wonder,” he said quietly, “why all these people are really here. Fervor? A sense of duty? Or is it the chance of rich pickings? A chance to escape, maybe. Or the love of adventure? Well, when the crusade begins, I'm sure we'll soon find out.”

“No right-thinking man wishes for war,” Count Thibaud continued. “But as Saint Augustine has taught us, to keep the peace can be wrong. God commands good Christians to fight, and strip the pagans of their sins. We fight the Saracens for their own good.
Can anything be worse than for a man to sin without even realizing it?” The count raised his arms. “Let nothing delay us,” he said. “Go home now! Settle your affairs! Within one year, we will begin our pilgrimage. Our quest for Jerusalem!”

After Count Thibaud had finished speaking, all the knights and squires who had taken the Cross went to the chancellery, so that our names could be pricked on the crusade muster. And then, as we walked out through the courtyard, eight men began to sing a crusader song, and Lord Stephen and I stopped to listen:

“Each man who goes with Count Thibaud
Need have no further fear of hell.
Paradise will house his soul
and he will drink at heaven's well.

Christians are few, few as sheep,
There are more Saracens than stars.
Wives, lovers, and children, weep!
Ay! Let Jerusalem be ours!”

Lord Stephen looked up at one of the flaming torches. “You were asking me about these,” he said. “What would you say, Arthur, makes a man powerful?”

“His birth,” I replied.

“You can be born powerful and still forfeit that power.”

“His men, then,” I said. “His followers. The loyalty he commands.”

“Yes,” said Lord Stephen, “and what keeps a man loyal?”

“If his lord is just,” I said, “and generous to him.”

“Generous?” Lord Stephen asked.

“With gifts and praise. And feasts. If he opens his palm.”

“Aha!” said Lord Stephen, smiling. “If his money goes up in flames!”

Y
OU'RE NOT GOING TO LIKE THIS,” LORD STEPHEN TOLD
me. “Not to begin with.”

“What is it, sir?”

Lord Stephen sat down on the bench beside me. “Neither do I, entirely. Great challenges are awkward beasts; they always cause hardship.”

“What challenge, sir?”

“Now! You remember Count Thibaud told us to go home and settle our affairs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes,” and Lord Stephen slowly, and then he gently blew at two ice-blue butterflies fluttering right in front of us. “Well. As you know, the count and Milon and the marshal and the bishop of Troyes, they've all been talking…”

“Yes, sir.”

“…and the upshot is, they're sending six envoys to Venice. To ask the Doge to build the crusade ships. To negotiate a price.”

I've never heard Lord Stephen take so long to get to the point—as if he were drawing a bow and taking aim very, very carefully.

“Milon will be going. And so will the marshal, Lord Geoffroy himself. He'll be the leader, and the envoys will have charters and the power to make decisions. That's the idea, but it will have to
be agreed next month in Compiègne with Count Baudouin and Count Louis…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Arthur, the fact is, they've asked me to go with them.”

I stared at Lord Stephen, aghast, and he smiled apologetically.

“And you, of course. As English observers.”

“To Venice?”

“Compiègne first, and then Venice.”

“But we can't.”

Lord Stephen rubbed his right hand across his eyes and nose. “When you'd just come to Holt, last January, I told you this crusade would be the greatest adventure of our lives. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, it has begun.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,'” Lord Stephen said. “There's only ‘and, and and, and, and.' God has chosen us for this journey. It's a great honor and we must accept it.”

“How long will it take, sir?” I asked bleakly.

“Venice? I don't know. I've never been there. South through Champagne and Burgundy and Savoy, then over the Alps, and east to Venice. It all depends on when we leave. October…November…December…Well, Arthur, we should certainly be home to celebrate Easter.”

“Easter!” I cried.

“I know,” said Lord Stephen. “I can see the difficulties, yours and my own. I must explain to my poor wife to begin with—and
we'd better bring her back some good spices from Venice! And then I must send a message to the constable at Wigmore about the castle guards, and organize the management of the manor—all this and much more, with winter about to come. But this is how life is, Arthur. Uncomfortable. Often unexpected. And what are we to do about it? I think we must always expect change. We must somehow try to be ready for it, and even welcome it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After all, you wouldn't really like it if you always knew what was about to happen. Would you?”

“No, sir.”

“Winnie! Is that it?”

“Partly, sir.”

“It won't hurt her, not hearing from you at once.”

“But she says…”

“What does she say?”

“I'm not wellborn. She says I can never be betrothed to a knight's daughter.”

“Nonsense!” Lord Stephen said cheerfully. “And you can tell her I say so. Write her a letter. You can use the messenger I send to England.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Almost one year ago, I pulled Grace up into my climbing-tree, and we talked about being betrothed. We believed we would be. But first I found out that that's impossible, because she's my half sister, and now Winnie is upset with me. It's all so difficult. The only girl I can really rely on is Gatty.

“You and Winnie,” Lord Stephen said. “Yes! Would you like me to tell Sir Walter and Lady Anne what I hope? Would that help, do you think?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“And now your mother,” Lord Stephen went on. “You're anxious about her.”

“I am, sir.”

But I couldn't tell Lord Stephen about my discussion with Thomas and Maggot, and how Thomas promised to take a message to my mother, saying how much I want to see her—saying I was going away, but only for six weeks. I couldn't tell him about her golden ring, and how I won't even see it now for months and months.

“I can't say I wholly agree with Sir John and Lady Helen,” said Lord Stephen. “In his letter, Sir John said that searching for your mother would be too costly. Not just for you, but for people you care about. Your own mother, Lady Alice, and Tom and Grace.” Lord Stephen hesitated. “It is dangerous, certainly. But after you came back from Gortanore—from your first visit to Gortanore, Arthur…”

“Oh!” I gasped. “You knew, sir!”

For a moment, Lord Stephen covered his eyes, and then he half-smiled. “After you came back, you told me you had to find your mother.”

“Yes, sir,” I said in a low voice.

“I agree with you. Your mother is your mother! You should find her, and that's what Lady Alice thinks as well.”

“Lady Alice!”

“She came over and talked to me while you were at Verdon,” Lord Stephen said.

“About my mother?”

“Yes.”

“Does Thomas know?”

Lord Stephen looked puzzled. “Thomas? Why should he?”

“I just thought…” I began.

“Well, Arthur, what I can tell you is your mother is alive. She's alive and strong.”

Tears were pricking the backs of my eyes.

“Your mother,” said Lord Stephen, “I keep calling her your mother. Do you know her name?”

I shook my head miserably.

“Don't look so stricken!” said Lord Stephen, and he leaned towards me and smiled encouragingly. “Mair,” he said gently.

“Mair,” I repeated. Her sweet name. I listened to it like a deep secret; I put my whole self around it, and it shook me.

Lord Stephen put a pudgy hand on my shoulder.

“She's living at Catmole,” he said, “in your father's manor. She's a poor woman, you know.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Anyhow, Arthur, I think I can promise…yes, Lady Alice and I promise to try to arrange a meeting when we do get home.”

“Oh!” I cried.

I stood up then, and Lord Stephen stood up, and he embraced me.

The two blue butterflies trembled and sipped from a red rose, then they danced on air around each other.

Lord Stephen blinked—at least ten times. “Provided—” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Provided Sir William is facing the wrong way.”