All the great lords were now arriving in Constantinople, bringing with them men of every nationality and tongue. Eleanor had glimpsed these leaders as they visited the luxurious villa to confer with Count Raymond. Hugh of Paris, brother to the King of France, was the first Frank to arrive in Constantinople. The French prince’s small fleet had been shipwrecked, many of his troops drowned, their sea-drenched corpses washed up in inlets and on islands. Nevertheless all these corpses, so it was rumoured, bore red crosses, a miracle, a sure sign that they had fulfilled their vow and would receive God’s reward. Godfrey of Bouillon arrived, iron-haired and harsh-faced, with his ambitious wily brother Baldwin, whilst Adhémar of Le Puy, the scheming, warlike bishop, still nursing his sore head after the attack on him in Sclavonia, led in the rest of Count Raymond’s troops to be comfortably quartered in the fields and meadows beyond the city. Robert ‘Short-breeches’, Duke of Normandy, red-haired and even more red-faced, jovial and laughing, lazy and feckless but a superb horseman and a skilled warrior, came swaggering in. Finally Bohemond, the Norman Prince of Taranto, yellow-haired with the face of a hunting eagle, who stood over six feet, with the powerful arms of a swordsman. A Norman who took to fighting like a bird to flying, Bohemond was no friend of the Greeks. He had fought to carve himself an empire in southern Italy and Greece, only to be repulsed. He now brought five hundred knights under his scarlet banner, eager for Jerusalem but with an equally sharp eye for any territories and fiefs along the way that he could claim as his own. Bohemond was joined by his nephew Tancred de Hauteville, the finest swordsman amongst the Normans, a bird of similar feather to Bohemond though one more concerned about his soul and the blood on his hands than seizing some rich fief.
All these seigneurs gathered like a host of hawks in Constantinople. The Emperor, cunning as a serpent, received them with exquisite gifts: gold and silver, precious cloths, jewelled saddles and harness, fresh robes, baskets of sugared fruits and wines cooled by snow from Olympus, caskets and coffers of gleaming sapphires, small ingots of ivory, damascened covers and finely wrought weapons. Alexius feted and entertained the leaders whilst their followers, seventy thousand strong, stayed outside the city, fed and watered but closely watched by squadrons of Turcopoles in their pointed helmets of grey damascened steel, turbans of white cloth wrapped around their brows. The Turcopoles sported leather body armour over loose jerkins with breeches pushed into high-heeled riding boots. All were well armed with lance, bow and sword. Hugh took careful note of these and ruefully wished the great lords would do likewise: their future enemy, the Seljuk Turks, were similarly armed and adopted the same hit-and-run tactics in battle, to devastating effect.
Alexius, for all his generosity and advice, viewed the Franks as a farmer would savage dogs whom he’d brought on to his land to drive off wolves: they had to be carefully controlled. The Franks might be dedicated to God’s work, but Alexius was determined they would also do his. He demanded oaths of fealty from the lords and, with various degrees of chicanery, they gave these, promising to hand over any cities taken in return for supplies and military assistance. Alexius swore to put twenty thousand men at their disposal under his chief Turcopole Tacticius, a wily veteran commander of Greek and Turkish parents who’d had his nose bitten off in a fight and replaced it with a false one of gleaming steel. Tacticius also entertained the lords to series of splendid banquets. The Franks, accustomed to draughty, smoke-filled halls adorned with dirty tapestries and warmed by filthy rushes on the floor, were suborned by gleaming hangings, marble walls, luxurious cloths and bathhouses that smelt fragrantly of sandalwood and attar of roses. The Franks mingled with sloe-eyed women garbed in saffron silk, rose and blue linen, with purple cords, tasselled with gold, around their slim waists. Alexius opened his treasuries, distributing gold bezants amongst the captains and copper tartarons amongst their followers. Nevertheless, he walked a dangerous path. When the lords assembled to take their oaths, one of them unceremoniously sat down on the Emperor’s vacated throne and had to be roughly pulled off by his colleagues. Further altercations occurred as some of the leaders openly voiced their suspicions of Alexius. Eventually, however, an agreement was reached, the die was cast; an advance guard would cross the Arm of St George into Anatolia, where Sultan Kilij Arslan hoped to destroy them as he had the hordes of Peter the Hermit. That charismatic former leader of the People’s Army was now a discontented, broken man who had merged the pitiful remnants of his erstwhile horde into what everyone was now calling the Army of God. All Peter could do was mourn that the Holy Spirit had deserted him and that he and his followers had been justly punished for the sins they’d committed.
On her part, Eleanor was determined to have words with Hugh and Godefroi. Once in Anatolia, they would face dangers as great as any in Sclavonia. Accordingly, whenever possible, she questioned Hugh, who remained taciturn until the eve of the Feast of St Athanasius. A banquet had been arranged for the following evening where Hugh hoped to host the leading men of his brotherhood and, once again, enforce the rule, which he had made even more rigorous. On the afternoon beforehand he and Godefroi, accompanied by Theodore, took Eleanor into the city along narrow lanes and alleyways, past the markets and bazaars, the rancid-smelling runnels and busy jetties into the great Augusteon Square: a spacious expanse ablaze with sunlight that struck off the ivory-white marble porticoes and walls all emblazoned with gold, silver and bronze. The square was dominated by a huge statue of Constantine as well as the cavernous entrance into the golden-domed Cathedral of Hagia Sophia, Holy Wisdom, where long-haired priests prayed and chanted amidst clouds of incense.
Inside the cathedral, Theodore first showed them the image of the Virgin, whose tears dropped without ceasing, then the tablets of stone Moses had taken from Mount Sinai, the bronze trumpets of Joshua that had brought down Jericho, and the Staff of Aaron. All these relics were revealed to the constant chanting of ‘Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison’. Finally, Eleanor was shown various images of the face of the Saviour; she was taken from one side altar to another to study paintings and icons framed in silver, gold and precious stones.
‘Look, Eleanor,’ Hugh murmured, ‘see how each is the same, or almost so.’
The different renderings gave individual interpretations of the Divine face, yet there was a marked similarity between them all. A long face, with very expressive eyes, a slim nose and full lips above a firm chin. He was moustached and bearded, and the long hair, reddish-brown, hung braided on each side in a fashion similar to how some Jewish men still wore it. Afterwards they left the hallowed precincts and crossed the Augusteon Square, where they stopped to admire the twelve bronze figures that moved to show the direction of the wind. Theodore then led them down a maze of alleyways to the quayside, a veritable Tower of Babel with different tongues shouting in shrill voices. The Greek mercenary hired a shabby chamber above stairs in a tavern, ordering wine, bread and a highly spiced fish dish, which he carefully shared out into bowls.
Hugh and Godefroi had apparently taken Theodore completely into their confidence. Eleanor was pleased with that. Theodore was of similar mind to them and her admiration for this good-humoured, resolute and patient man had deepened over the last few weeks. He smiled and winked at her as Godefroi intoned the grace. For a while they ate in silence, then Hugh cleaned his dish with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth and sat staring at his sister.