‘I asked you a question, brother, a direct question that deserves an honest answer. We are travelling across the world to Jerusalem, yet there is more to it, isn’t there, than the freeing of Christ’s Sepulchre, the liberation of the Holy Places. You, Godefroi, Alberic and Norbert, there is something else, some secret.’
He opened his mouth to reply.
‘Hugh, I know you like no one else does. You don’t lie. Sometimes you simply don’t tell the truth! I have asked you to lend me that poem, “La Chanson de Voyage de Charlemagne”. What is in that, Hugh?’
He scraped his boots on the ground and, leaning down, took off his spurs, jingling them in his hand.
‘I promise you this, sister,’ he smiled, ‘I will tell you everything, but not now. We face problems enough. My execution of those men is not popular.’
‘Nor was their crime,’ Eleanor retorted. She stared at her brother. His unshaven face looked harder, more resolute. She felt tempted to tell him about Fulcher, but decided to wait. They were bound for Jerusalem, but Hugh and, to a certain extent Godefroi, Alberic and Norbert too, apparently had their own private crusade. She was sure it was not her own imagination, but decided to accept Hugh’s reticence for the time being.
They returned to the camp now all a-bustle, bitterness at the Greek attack and the subsequent executions swiftly receding as the food and wine were distributed. After Vespers, Eleanor, Hugh, Godefroi, Alberic and Norbert joined the leaders of other companies in a tented enclosure lit by cresset torches lashed to poles. The vicomte and his colleagues stood on a dais and openly debated what was to be done next. Shouted argument and counterargument ensued, wine and full bellies quickening tempers. Many claimed Count Raymond should not have abandoned them. A few voiced the wish to return home. Eleanor felt tired and sick. She excused herself and returned to the cart where Imogene, helped by a nearby family, had set up tent. Beyond the ring of carts, the torches of scavengers and other searchers moved around the battlefield. Guards on foot also patrolled in the jingle of armour and the creak of leather. Eleanor was about to settle down when she remembered Fulcher. She found the pannier where she’d hidden it and shook out the paltry contents: a dagger, some nails, a medal, pieces of silver and a thick-soled sandal, its leather upper prised loose from the stitching. Eleanor put her fingers inside and drew out a neatly folded piece of smooth vellum. She unfolded this; it was larger than she’d thought. The vellum was slightly oiled, the best to be found in any chancery or scriptorium. In the poor light she could make out a drawing like a map and the clearly written letters above it.
‘Under the Rock,’ she translated, ‘look on the treasures of God and the face of the Lord.’ She moved the lantern horn closer. The diagram meant nothing to her, nor did the words. She sat down, refolded the piece of vellum and tucked it into the hem of her cuff. Fulcher had evidently thought this was important; so had Anstritha. Was this the manuscript the mysterious horseman had been searching for? Anstritha had been out to Outremer; so had Norbert and Alberic. Had they discovered something precious there? Eleanor closed her eyes. She recalled that list of relics held by her brother, and yes, something else: Hugh and Godefroi chanting that poem they so zealously read. Those words on Anstritha’s manuscript sparked a memory of verses in the ‘Chanson’ about the face of Christ. Was there more to the Poor Brethren of the Temple? Anstritha and Fulcher had both died violently, as had Robert the Reeve. Was the latter’s death an accident? And was the horseman now one of their company? They had never really discussed Robert’s death. The reeve was undoubtedly a toper, but how had he drowned in that stream? Did he know something? Had he been inveigled outside and murdered?
Eleanor heard sounds, her name being called. She crawled to the mouth of the tent and pulled back the flap. Hugh crouched there.
‘Sister,’ he smiled, ‘a decision has been made. We, the leaders of the Poor Brethren, will leave immediately tomorrow morning for Constantinople to take urgent council with the Lord Raymond.’
Part 4
Constantinople: The Morrow of the Feast of St Athanasius, 3 May 1096
In quo cessabit mulierum amor et desiderium.
(A day on which the love and desire of women will cease.)
The Dies Irae of St Columba
Eleanor de Payens of Compiègne in the county of Champagne, crucesignati, cross-bearer, sister of Hugh, widow of Odo de Furneval, always swore that the city of Constantinople, old Byzantium, was the nearest thing to her image of the heavenly Jerusalem, despite the treachery, murder and intrigue brewing in that great city by its inland sea. Eleanor and her companions reached Constantinople around the Feast of St Mark the Evangelist. Theodore, their guide, described the city as a rough triangle bounded on two sides by the sea and enclosed within massive twin walls. They entered through the Golden Gate, three sets of soaring bronze doors enclosed by a white-brick, red-tiled wall, which, in turn, was surmounted by two massive golden statues of Victory and four huge elephants carved from the same precious metal.
The Poor Brethren joined Count Raymond at the luxurious villa the Emperor, Alexius Comnenus, had provided for the Provençal leader just off the great highway leading up to the Golden Gate. The count received them well. He grew furious at the news about the Greek attack, though he was full of praise for Hugh’s actions. He was restless, still in deep negotiation with both the other leaders as well as the Emperor’s court. He insisted that they relax whilst they waited. They bathed, dressed in fresh flowing robes, ate soft fruit-bread and fresh lamb roasted in mint and spices, and drank wines that had once, Theodore assured them, drenched the mouths of Alexander the Great and his generals.
In the days following, Theodore proved to be a knowledgeable, courteous and highly intelligent guide. He showed them the glories of the city. They were ushered up marble steps into the great palaces where Varangians, warriors from the north, stood on guard in their gold-edged scarlet cloaks. On their heads were plumed silver helmets, in their hands the two-headed axes that distinguished them as the Immortals, Alexius’ imperial body guard. Past these pattered servants in their silver-slippered feet, hurrying to do the will of the Basileus, the Elect of God, their Christ-Adoring Emperor. Eleanor and her companions also walked the great city walls, thirty feet high and seventeen miles long, and from the summit of the Golden Gate watched the caravans of carts, camels, donkeys and horses bringing in the produce of the empire.
They visited the harbours and quaysides of the Golden Horn where triangular-sailed fishing smacks cut the light-blue, sun-dazzled waters, past imperial galleys with their banks of oars and the huge dragon’s heads arching out over carved prows which, Theodore confided, spat out streams of mysterious Greek fire. In the cool of the evening they wandered the streets, escorted at all times by mercenaries who ensured that these Franks were kept safe and did not wander where they shouldn’t. After the dusty open roads, rocky meadowland and thick forests of their recent march, Eleanor found the contrast dazzling. In the teeming city bazaars, bearded, hawk-eyed men shouted at them in a variety of bewildering languages as they offered camphor oil, sesame, silk from Cathay, spices such as sandalwood and rolls of heavy embroidery. From open-fronted cookshops traders served platters of honey cake, walnuts, chilled cherries and goblets of Chian wine. Afterwards they walked in the imperial gardens, where the Judas trees blossomed and the wild vines grew heavy and lush. Along the waterways cutting through these paradises sailed gilt-edged pleasure barges and imperial galleys resplendent in their pennants. Eleanor would remember such luxury and opulence during the storm of war, disease and famine that would later engulf them. She also kept to her promise that she would discover what secret desires prompted the hearts of those in her company. She began to hint at this whenever she was alone with Hugh, though this was a rare event. Count Raymond depended on Hugh, especially in his discussions with the other lords about the setting up of a council of leaders, establishing a common fund and sharing provisions.