Count Raymond continued his march. He seized certain hill forts and eventually decided to lay siege to the great fortress of Arqa. He hoped that if this fell it might attract back Bohemond, Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders, who had not joined his march south. He believed Arqa could be taken easily. He was wrong. The Turkish defenders displayed superb bravery, engaging in ferocious forays against the Franks. Savage duels took place between the huge catapults of the city and those brought south by the Army of God. Pots of fire, bundles of flaming wood, pitch and brimstone were loosed to explode in a fiery blaze against the tents and huts of the besiegers. Raymond of Toulouse still believed the city could be taken and decided to teach the Turks of the area that he was to be feared. Hugh and Godefroi argued against this, but the count was adamant. He threatened the great ruler of nearby Tripoli by sending a raiding party to seize the neighbouring port of Tortosa. The ruler of Tripoli was suitably impressed and handed over a string of horses and ten thousand gold bezants. Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders heard of this and hurried south to join Raymond, who had to use his new-found wealth not only to pay the warlike Tancred, who’d deserted his uncle Bohemond, but also to reward Godfrey and Robert.
One trouble followed another. Arqa refused to fall. News arrived that the Emperor Alexius had written instructing Count Raymond not to move any further south until he joined the army for the final march on Jerusalem. Peter Bartholomew, ever under Raymond’s wing, emerged with more decrees as to how the Army of God should purge itself anew. Deep resentment festered. Fierce discussion took place. Representations were made that they had left Marrat with one aim, to march directly on Jerusalem, yet once again were delaying. Hugh and Godefroi discussed all this when they gathered for a special council meeting in Theodore’s tent. Alberic and Norbert, gaunt-faced and zealous-eyed, later joined them, as did Beltran.
It was a balmy night, as Eleanor later reflected, one on which she and Theodore were accustomed to walk out of the camp to savour the thick, heavy smells of early summer away from the raw stench of camp fires, cooking pots, latrines, and the pervasive reek of filthy clothes on dirty bodies. Theodore was swiftly replacing Hugh as Eleanor’s confidant. He did not lecture but persuaded her to talk, and she did, more frankly and honestly than in any shriving pew. Theodore encouraged her to discuss the past. Eleanor realised how the haunting death of her drunken, violent husband had receded during her journey. Sometimes weeks passed without her thinking of it. Now, however, as Theodore paid court and they drew closer to Jerusalem after all the horrors of the campaign, Eleanor recalled the past. She spoke about the changes she’d undergone, the growing distance between herself and Hugh, the coolness of Godefroi, and how she had eventually found peace from her own scruples. She’d become firmly convinced that her husband had brought his own death on himself. If she was guilty in any way, then she had certainly purged such guilt. After all, how had she provoked her husband’s raging fury, his foul mouth and violent ways? Moreover, what was his death compared to the thousands of innocents massacred on either side in this so-called Holy War? In the end, the journey east had not been what Eleanor had even remotely expected. Yet she was here because she was here and there was no turning back. True, the journey’s end was in sight, but how would Jerusalem make her, or anybody else, more human or holy? If anything, she confessed to Theodore, the pilgrimage had purged her soul of so much rubbish. If they reached Jerusalem, if she survived, she would have no more part in the pursuit of visions; she would begin again, build her own world and shelter in it as securely as any nun would in her cell.
Theodore never disagreed. The pair of them took to riding away from the filth of the camp, the noise and rattle of the siege around Arqa. They’d gallop out into the countryside, searching for some whitewashed cottage with its animal pens, flower plots and vegetable gardens. Theodore would sit beside her on the grass and describe how his early life had been in such a place as this and how it had always been his dream to search it out again. Eleanor listened as the door to her past shut tight behind her. There would be no return to Compiègne. No more agonising over the death of her husband or sharing some heavenly vision with Hugh and Godefroi. Once Jerusalem was taken — if Jerusalem was taken — her vow would be fulfilled and a new path waited to be followed.
Eleanor recalled her promise to herself when Hugh convened his meeting: her brother was now a power to be heard, a recognised leader, and he delivered his proclamation in authoritative, blunt words: Godfrey of Bouillon and Robert of Flanders had rejoined the Army of God, which was now a force about twenty thousand strong, at the very most. The siege of Arqa was draining resources and should be abandoned, whilst the Caliph of Cairo’s great army was marching to Jerusalem’s defence.
‘How do you know that?’ Beltran asked, blustering uninvited into the tent, Imogene trailing dolefully behind him. Eleanor studied her closely. Imogene was gaunt and thin-faced, not due to any deprivation, just because she and Beltran were now quarrelling incessantly, though over what, Eleanor could not discover.
‘How do I know that?’ Hugh retorted. ‘By an act of God. One of my brothers went out hawking; his falcon attacked a pigeon and, wounded, it fell. My brother found the pigeon carried a message in a small cylinder attached just above one of its claws.’
‘Never!’ Beltran scoffed.
‘Its true. I’ve heard the same,’ Theodore intervened. ‘The Turks have trained pigeons to carry messages over long distances.’
‘And the news?’ Alberic asked.
‘What I’ve told you. The message came from one of the Caliph of Cairo’s fortresses in the south,’ Hugh replied. ‘The Egyptians are sending a great army to defend Jerusalem.’
Only the crackling of the fire and the drifting sounds of the camp broke the silence.
‘This nonsense must stop.’ Godefroi clambered to his feet, hands outstretched. Eleanor hid her smile. Hugh had arranged this, even though he stood face all pious as any novice in his choir stall.
‘Our allegiance is to Count Raymond,’ Alberic offered.
‘Only to take Jerusalem,’ Norbert murmured.
‘If he will not go,’ Godefroi continued fiercely, ‘then we’ll withdraw our love and loyalty from him.’
This was greeted by cries of approval.
‘But the lance,’ Norbert declared, ‘Count Raymond holds the Holy Lance and his prophet Peter Bartholomew sees that as a sign from heaven, direct approval by God of all Count Raymond does.’
‘But who said Peter Bartholomew is a prophet in Israel?’ Hugh asked menacingly. ‘Heaven can withdraw its favour and God His approval. Is that not true?’
Over the next few days Hugh’s question was answered as Peter Bartholomew made the situation much worse. He was now experiencing new visions of Christ, St Peter and St Andrew, and the story he proclaimed was chilling. The Lord had instructed him how too many sinners sheltered in the Army of God and that these must be ruthlessly rooted out. Count Raymond of Toulouse should summon the entire army and have them lined up as if in battle. Peter Bartholomew would then miraculously discover the Franks arrayed in five ranks: those in the first three ranks would be the devoted followers of Christ, but the last two would include those polluted by the sins of adultery, fornication, pride, avarice and cowardice. Peter announced that the Lord had instructed him to oversee the immediate execution of all such sinners. Of course this was viewed as a direct threat. Count Raymond was already unpopular. The siege at Arqa was dragging on, the message from Alexius asked them to delay even further, and now this.