Crusade (44 page)

We turned away; whichever God they were praying to, it was not our God.

There was one final battle to be fought in the Crusade.

News arrived within a few hours of the slaughter at Jerusalem that Malik al-Afdal, the Vizier of the Caliphate of Cairo, was approaching with a Fatimid army 30,000 strong, landing his force at the port of Ascalon. It had elite Egyptian cavalry at its core and troops from all over the Caliphate: Berbers, Bedouin, Ethiopians and squadrons from the personal bodyguards of all the emirs of the Fatimid cities along the North African coast. It was at least as powerful as any army we had faced in the entire Crusade.

The Princes, emboldened and briefly united by their achievements, decided on yet another unpredictably daring response. They would not sit behind the walls of Jerusalem and wait for the attack; they would ride out and meet it head on. Although their newly purchased horses were less sturdy than their European mounts, the knights could fight on horseback once more and relished the prospect.

We had no stomach for any more fighting of the sort that had come to be the hallmark of Crusader behaviour. Sweyn, Hereward, Adela and Estrith took Harold and headed north to Jaffa with Hugh Percy and an escort of Robert’s men to organize a fleet for our departure from the Holy Land.

Robert and I took advice from the Brethren and wrestled with the dilemma for many hours before deciding that it would be wrong to desert the cause at the moment when its objective had been achieved, no matter how much unnecessary blood had been spilled in doing so.

We reached the vicinity of Ascalon on the evening of
the 11th of August. It soon became clear from the reports of our scouts that we had been fortunate and that the audacity of the Princes had worked in our favour once more. Malik al-Afdal had spent the day preparing his army to march on Jerusalem the next morning and then bedded it down for the night. Feeling certain that his quarry would hole up in Jerusalem, he had posted few sentries and made no provision to defend his camp against a surprise attack.

Godfrey of Bouillon led a Council of War, where the decision was quickly taken to rest for only a few hours and then to form up as close to the Fatimid army as possible during the darkest hours of the night, waiting for the first hint of dawn. When there was just enough light to illuminate our path, we would charge, en masse, straight into the Fatimid camp.

When the moment came, Raymond of Toulouse took the right flank, Godfrey of Bouillon the left, with Robert of Flanders, Tancred of Hauteville, Robert and myself in the centre. The first rays of the sun caught the crimson of our flags and war banners before bathing us all in its early morning gleam. With the light radiating behind us in an iridescent glow, and the thunder of our horses booming ever louder, we must have presented a terrifying vision as we fell upon the enemy camp out of the night.

We were outnumbered by at least three to one, but our group of men was the elite residue of an army which itself was the best Europe had to offer when it set out three years earlier. It had survived battle, deprivation and disease and had been forged in incredibly challenging circumstances.

Many were also inspired by mystical relics unearthed by
the Crusaders and brought to the battlefield. Raymond of Toulouse carried the Holy Lance, found in Antioch, which was said to be the spear that had been plunged into Christ’s side on the cross. Arnulf of Chocques, the new Patriarch of Jerusalem, held aloft the True Cross, believed to be a piece of Christ’s crucifix, discovered hidden in a silver case in a dingy corner of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

Most of the foot soldiers had walked from Jerusalem barefoot, like true pilgrims, and dozens of knights had worn sackcloth on the journey to purge themselves in preparation for the battle. Mixed in equal measures with a voracious greed and a lust for violence, religious zeal had driven these men throughout the Crusade; it was a frightening brew.

Only on the eve of battle did they wear their garments of war – which, to them, represented another form of reverential clothing, because killing infidels was another kind of devotion to God.

The Battle of Ascalon was hardly that; it was more like an ambush that led to a stampede of terrified men. The Fatimid cavalry had no time to find their horses, let alone mount them; thousands were cut down in their camp as we charged straight through their neat rows of tents. Of those who managed to retreat, some made for the shore in a vain attempt to reach their boats, while others rushed to get through the gates of Ascalon before they were barred against them.

Our losses were minimal, theirs so great that it was easier to count the survivors than the dead. Al-Afdal managed to get into the city and set sail for Cairo, leaving the remnants of his army to fend for themselves. The victory
neutralized the Fatimid threat from the south, just as Dorylaeum had nullified the Seljuks in the north.

The new Christian realms in the Holy Land were secure for the foreseeable future.

Our obligations to the Crusade now met, we prepared to return to Jerusalem immediately.

Robert gave his men twenty-four hours to take their share of plunder from the Fatimids’ weapons and belongings, and our portion of the spoils of Ascalon’s treasury was shared out equally. But we refused to let our men enter the city, and we issued strict orders against rape or killing.

Within the week, we were on the road to Jaffa. Robert had lost almost three-quarters of his knights and an even higher proportion of his infantry and civilians. All his destriers had perished, the finest body of cavalry flesh in the world, and almost all the money he had raised from the sale of his dukedom had gone. He took very little from the spoils of Jerusalem – just enough to get us home.

My English contingent had suffered similar losses. At the roll-call at Jaffa we counted 63 able-bodied men, 11 crippled or dying, and only 7 civilians, all of them monks.

Estrith and Adela were the only female survivors, and young Harold of Hereford the only child.

32. The Parting

Our arrival in Constantinople brought a few weeks of comfort as we enjoyed the delights of the Blachernae, but it was also tinged with bitterness. Hereward insisted that he would return to his mountain home in the Peloponnese – no matter how hard Estrith, in particular, tried to persuade him to change his mind.

In September, he found a trader bound for Iberia and prepared to leave for Valencia to visit the Cid before the autumn gales became too severe. But he was forced to abort his trip when the captain brought him news, from a ship newly arrived, that his old friend had died peacefully in his bed in the middle of July. Doña Jimena, grief-stricken, had gone into mourning and refused to see anyone.

The Emperor summoned us for an audience.

Hereward had arrived before us; he had discarded his imperial garb and reverted to being the Old Man of the Mountain. He embraced all of us in turn.

‘Adela, let me kiss my grandson. Take care of him for me.’

Estrith burst into tears.

‘Please, Father, don’t go!’

Hereward had turned to leave, but he now stopped and thought for a while before addressing his daughter.

‘I once left you and Gunnhild to fight a battle. It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. This time there are no more battles to fight; there is no reason
why I should leave you again. But I can’t go to England.’

‘Then let me come with you.’

‘Estrith, I live in a lean-to at the top of a mountain in the middle of a wilderness, and winter approaches.’

‘It will do me good. Besides, it’s how my mother and grandfather lived in the wildwood. I can work on designs for my roof of hammer beams –’ her eyes widened in anticipation ‘– I will stay until the spring and then go north to join the others in Rouen.’

‘What about Harold?’

She looked at Sweyn and Adela, who smiled and nodded their approval.

‘It will do him good too. He needs toughening up, if he is to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather.’

Hereward’s face softened.

‘I’m not the most engaging company.’

‘Neither am I, but I have a child to care for and a complicated roof design to perfect, I don’t need much company.’

He looked at Alexius.

‘Sire, she will need an escort in the spring to take her to Normandy.’

Alexius signalled his approval.

‘It will be at Messene on the third new moon of next year.’

Estrith rushed at Hereward and threw her arms around him.

Alexius called to his steward, ‘Some wine, I have a toast to make!’

The stewards handed round silver goblets and poured generous amounts of Byzantium’s finest black wine.

‘To Harold of Hereford, a noble knight in the making.’

The toast was repeated, and Alexius got up from his throne to thank each of us in turn. He then turned to Sweyn.

‘I have a son, John Comnenus, twelve years old; he is away with his companion, John Azoukh – a Seljuk Turkish slave given to me as a gift, who I have adopted. He is good for John Comnenus, because my son has everything and John Azoukh nothing. Don’t spoil your son; make him strong like you and your father. When he is older, bring him back to Constantinople, I would like to meet him and you can introduce him to my two sons.’

‘It would be an honour, Your Majesty.’

‘And now, let us talk about the Talisman of Truth; it is obviously still working its magic, because it brought us all together. In due course, I will give it to John Comnenus when it is time for him to wear the Purple, but I think John should be the recipient of the Talisman only for the beginning of his reign, when he will need it most. After that, its guardianship should become the responsibility of your Brethren, who may be able to put it to better use elsewhere. I will tell Prince John this, so that when the time is right you can come and collect it.’

‘Majesty, I will tell Harold this also. Thank you.’

‘I also have a gift for the boy. Keep it safe for when he is older.’

The Emperor handed Sweyn a small casket containing ten gold Byzantine bezants, a small fortune by anybody’s standards.

Sweyn fell to his knees and kissed Alexius’s ring.

That evening, as Hereward made ready to leave, I sought him out so that we could reflect on the past and, more importantly, look to the future.

‘It must be very gratifying to know that Estrith and your grandson will go with you to your mountain home.’

‘It is something I’m looking forward to, although I’m a little concerned that Estrith will find it somewhat primitive.’

‘I’m sure she will adapt perfectly; it sounds like a paradise.’

‘It’s strange how life seems to exist in big arcs of destiny. Torfida, Estrith’s grandmother, was raised in England’s wildwood by her father, the Old Man of the Wildwood. Now young Harry will spend his early days with an old man of the mountain.’

‘Perhaps that’s the Talisman at work. You must be pleased that the Emperor has chosen Harry to be its guardian one day.’

‘I am, but it’s also a heavy burden to place on the boy’s shoulders.’

‘Well, he’s got a fine pedigree. I’m sure he’ll be worthy.’

‘My Prince, you must help him and Estrith as long as you can.’

‘I will, of course. But why do you address me as “Prince” all of a sudden?’

‘Out of respect; you were born a prince, but had that title taken from you. Now, in my eyes, you’ve regained that title and are a prince by deed, not by birthright.’

I was stunned by Hereward’s words and moved to embrace him, but he backed away, clasped the hilt of his sword and bowed deeply before turning away towards his chamber.

‘Look after my daughter and grandson, Edgar, Prince of Wessex and England.’

I knew this was the last time I would ever see the great man. Once again, he had changed my life and, as he disappeared from view, I felt the tears welling in the corners of my eyes.

Within the week, our flotilla of ships was bound for Brindisi with sails full and a strong wind astern. Hereward, Estrith and baby Harold had already sailed for Messene.

Our journey was uneventful until we reached southern Italy, where a strange and wonderful thing happened: Robert fell in love. While his father, King William, was alive, he would not let Robert marry, for fear of a royal marriage compromising the delicate balance of politics in northern Europe. Only once did a marriage of alliance make sense, when he was betrothed to Margaret of Maine, but her untimely death put an end to that scheme. After the King’s death Robert seemed content with a host of pretty concubines and conquests, all of little consequence.

That changed when we arrived in Conversano in Puglia, as guests of Count Geoffrey, its Norman lord and nephew of Robert Guiscard. He was a charming old man, but his daughter, Sybilla, equally charming, was far from old; she was a girl just turned sixteen, buxom and vivacious. Robert, all but fifty years old, was smitten.

It was a good match. He was Duke of Normandy – the land of Geoffrey’s birth, and one of the mightiest realms in Europe – and his exploits in the Holy Land meant that he was one of the few Latin Princes whose reputation had been enhanced by the Crusade. He was hailed everywhere
as not only a hero but also a true soldier of Christ, a man to be revered. She, for her part, brought a significant dowry from one of the richest counties in Italy, sufficient to pay back the share of Normandy that Robert had mortgaged to King Rufus.

Sweyn and I took to her readily; she was very easy on the eye, made excellent conversation, had a sharp mind, ready humour and knew how to charm men. She also won over Adela, whose limp was becoming more and more noticeable as her injuries made her increasingly frail. Sybilla brought her a treat of some sort every day and helped her to walk in the hills around Conversano, to try to keep her mobile.

If the new fashion of Courtly Love was what I assumed it to be, then Robert became the embodiment of it. He was like a new man and confessed that, in the bedchamber, Sybilla was all that one would hope for in a delectable young woman: initial innocence, but with a growing appetite to learn. He often joked that his only complaint was ever increasing exhaustion, but of the most delightful kind.