‘Yes, yes, they have! If we have changed, so have they.’ Eleanor wiped the smoky dust off her face. ‘Both men act like monks, as faithful to their rule as a Benedictine to his abbey.’
‘And Lord Theodore?’ Simeon teased gently. ‘He is as passionate in his courting of you as ever?’
Eleanor blushed and glanced away. She picked up parchment and quill from the writing desk Simeon had looted from Khebogha’s camp. The scribe smiled to himself. He suspected she would do that, to distract both herself and him. Yet she must, Simeon reflected, keep writing this chronicle. After all, so many others, including Raymond of Aguilers, chaplain to Count Raymond of Toulouse, were keeping theirs. Simeon hoped to win lasting fame through his account, or should it really be that of Eleanor de Payens? Ah well, he shrugged, the chronicle was the important thing.
‘Lord Theodore?’ he whispered, but instead of turning to the matter in hand, Eleanor continued to stare into the night. She and Simeon had composed their own secret riddle. According to this, mankind was divided not between Turk, Orthodox, Armenian and Byzantine but between those who were religious and those who were truly human. Those truly human might not be religious, whilst those who were religious might not be truly human. The first part of the hypothesis described Theodore: courteous, courageous and, if the truth be told, totally cynical about church religion, and even more so about the leaders of this so-called Army of God. Eleanor also realised that Theodore loved her, and if only she could escape from this bloody mayhem, she would reflect on that as well as her own feelings for him. She breathed in deeply. She really must clear her mind! So much had happened since Khebogha’s defeat. She turned to Simeon.
‘Are you ready?’
‘The great victory at Antioch,’ Simeon murmured.
Ah yes, Eleanor reflected. If the Turks were overwhelmed by their utter defeat outside Antioch, so were the Franks by their miraculous success. The only explanation for their victory must be the presence of the Holy Lance, which had drawn down on to the Frankish side St George and the whole heavenly host. Hymns of praise were sung, battle psalms chanted, paeans of praise recited amidst the glorious words of the countless Masses offered in thanksgiving. Khebogha and all his might, both horse and rider, had been overthrown like Pharaoh and his chariots in the Red Sea. The season of want gave way to a season of plenty. Loot was collected, plunder piled, horses taken, food stocks replenished. Khebogha’s camp was brutally stripped as bare as locusts would a vineyard or an orchard. Once they’d accomplished this, the Army of God moved triumphantly back to Antioch. The commander of the citadel surrendered to Count Raymond, who had been too ill for the battle but who recovered swiftly enough to send his banner into the citadel. Bohemond hastened back as if he suspected Count Raymond’s secret plan to seize the entire city. The commander of the citadel promptly sent the Provençal’s banner back, accepted Bohemond’s and, at least publicly, converted to Christianity.
The Frankish victory at Antioch soon deepened internal divisions. The rivalry between Bohemond and Count Raymond intensified. Bohemond saw himself as the victor over Khebogha, but Count Raymond, to whom the Holy Lance had been entrusted, promoted himself as the real cause of the Atabeg’s downfall. Bohemond, however, declared publicly that he didn’t give a horse’s turd about divine signs or holy lances. Khebogha had been defeated by his knights! He seized the citadel and other fortifications, whilst Count Raymond occupied the governor’s palace and, most importantly, Bridge Gate, which commanded the road to the port of St Simeon and the sea. Neither was prepared to give way or concede an inch. A council was called but the two men were unable to agree, each reluctant to advance on Jerusalem until the ownership of Antioch was settled. A proclamation was issued covering up these differences, pointing out that the hot weather made any immediate march south impossible. The army would stay in Antioch until the Feast of All Saints, 1 November.
The Army of God, exhausted and depleted, accepted this, but as the weeks passed, resentment over the delay deepened. Bishop Adhémar, furious at such rancorous bickering, concentrated on purifying Antioch, as corpses still rotted in gulleys, alleyways, houses and cisterns. The Basilica of St Peter had to be reconsecrated and the Greek patriarch John IV formally installed. Nevertheless, God appeared to have turned his hand against his self-proclaimed army. A mysterious, virulent plague born out of the miasma and foul air from all the unattended corpses ravaged the city. An entire troop of German reinforcements, together with the crew of the ship on which they had sailed, arrived in Antioch only to be wiped out to a man. On 1 August, Adhémar himself died. According to a vision received by Peter Bartholomew, the revered bishop’s remains were to be buried in St Peter’s basilica where the Holy Lance had been found. Peter also proclaimed how Adhémar had personally appeared to him in a vision, full of remorse that he had once doubted the veracity of the Holy Lance. Indeed, Peter confided, Adhémar had only been saved from the fires of hell because of a candle he had lit as well as a donation he had made towards the Holy Lance. Peter’s message was clear: his vision was a solemn warning from beyond the grave not to doubt the sanctity of the great relic or the fact that heaven’s favour rested on its owner, Count Raymond of Toulouse.
The other leaders refused to be impressed and turned to their own affairs. Raymond Pilet, a leading Provençal noble, went foraging, as well as trying to impose the Christian faith through the sword on the terrified inhabitants of the surrounding countryside. Hugh of Paris journeyed to meet Emperor Alexius in order to ask for his assistance. Hugh, however, was exhausted, and decided to remain in Constantinople, later returning to France. Other leaders, with an eye to a quick profit, played upon the fears and jealousies of local Turkish rulers. The Frankish lords offered their soldiers and swords as mercenaries and left Antioch like hawks, hooded and eager for prey. Some were successful, others were not. Fulbert of Bouillon, accompanied by his pretty young wife, journeyed to join Baldwin, who had seized Edessa. A squadron of Turks sent by the ruler of Arzen ambushed them, and Fulbert lost both his head and his wife, who was promptly married off to one of the Turkish leader’s lieutenants. A great beauty, skilled in bed, Fulbert’s lovely widow persuaded her new husband to convince his emir, Omer of Arzen, to call in Godfrey of Bouillon to check Ridwan of Aleppo, that old enemy of the Army of God. Godfrey hastened to comply, seized great riches, then deserted his new-found ally, to the murderous fury of Ridwan.
Eleanor, lodged in the comfortable merchant’s house, could only watch and reflect as the Army of God began to fragment. Many of the Poor Brethren, and other contingents such as the Beggars’ Company, were now dead or missing. The Beggars, who did not know the true fate of their leaders, merged with Tarfur, leader of the Ribalds’ Company from Paris, a wild rabble always at the forefront of any excess. Hugh and Godfrey now hastened to mend bridges with the Beggars. They openly described the desertion of Jehan the Wolf and his two lieutenants as a blasphemy, whilst secretly ensuring that the remnants of that band of ruffians were always well provisioned with food and drink. Hugh’s relationship with Count Raymond, on the other hand, cooled considerably. Hugh blamed the count for the Army of God’s inaction and angrily criticised Peter Bartholomew’s prophecies. He was also eager to tempt others to his side as leadership amongst the Franks disintegrated. Men began to leave one troop to join another. Hugh did his best to attract the best to himself. He believed passionately that the survival of both himself and Godefroi through all the horrors was a sure sign of God’s approval for their plans and vision. He remained courteous and friendly towards Eleanor, highly appreciative of what she had done, but he was, as Theodore described, ‘always looking towards tomorrow’. Hugh and Godefroi had both grown more distant and stern during the long campaign. They acted more like twins, the closest of blood brothers, already drawing up plans for when Jerusalem was taken.