Chapter XXIV: How the Comrades Rode to Blachernae

The barons of the host made much of Sir James, and Boniface offered him command of the battalion left leaderless by the illness of Count Louis of Blois. But Sir James declined.

"To say truth, fair lord," he explained, "I have a matter of privy vengeance in hand. There is no want of puissant knights in this host, so prithee give the post to some other."

To the great satisfaction of the comrades, Sir James elected to cast in his lot with them, serving as a simple volunteer in the company of the Marshal of Champagne. But it was impossible for him to cast off the honours which were showered upon him. No feast was complete without him; no decision was reached by the chiefs without his advice. The pavilion which he shared with Hugh and Matteo was thronged daily with the best knights of the host.

The weather was still too severe to permit the resumption of active prosecution of the siege, but the news which came out of the city was encouraging to the Crusaders. Comnenus, after bringing about the overthrow of the Angeloi, had endeavoured to promote the selection as Emperor of Nicholas Canabus, a patrician of unblemished reputation, but colourless and weak. He had actually succeeded in having Canabus crowned in St. Sophia, when the other nobles, already jealous of the Chancellor's power, raised a counter-revolution in favour of Alexius Ducas, member of a family that had worn the purple in the past.

This movement demonstrated so much strength that Comnenus, in panic lest he lose his pre-eminence at Court, turned to the side of the Dukai and assisted the revolt which drove Canabus from the city and elevated in his place their candidate, who was known popularly as Murtzuphlus, because of his thick black eyebrows, which formed a solid ridge above his jutting nose. Murtzuphlus proved a leader of some ability, possessing his full share of the cruelty and selfish ambition which were the outstanding traits of practically all the Greek nobles.

He retained Comnenus as Chancellor, but on learning that the unfortunate Young Alexius had been permitted to live, after his eyes had been seared out, he directed that poison be administered. When this failed to remove the victim, the Emperor himself went to the youth's dungeon and strangled him with his own hands, remarking that in a matter of such importance it was well to leave nothing to chance.

This act of hideous cruelty removed the last scruples about the justice of their enterprise which lingered in the hearts of any of the Crusaders, and united the host in the determination to tear down the blood-stained Empire of the Eastern Rome. The bishops and abbots announced that the abolition of such wicked tyranny was a Christian duty, and warranted the granting of all the extraordinary privileges and remissions which were the ghostly rewards of Crusaders.

The situation was discussed, according to custom, in open parliament, and it was decided to restrict the attack of the city to the walls along the Golden Horn.

"By death, disease and accident, our numbers are now smaller than ever," Dandolo pointed out, "whilst our enemies are more numerous, and we may not reckon upon friendly interest within the walls. We are too few to make more than one attack. Moreover, you may recall, when we laid siege to the city before, the knights of the host were unable to carry the Blachernae walls, but from their ships the Venetians succeeded in seizing a stretch of the Golden Horn walls. It behooves us, lords, to concentrate our effort upon one spot."

There was no opposition to this strategy. The barons had learned by now that mounted knights could not ride over the walls of the strongest fortress in the world, and they had formed a high opinion of the seamanship and engineering skill of their Venetian allies. They joined heartily in the elaborate preparations, and in the meantime they established a loose blockade of the city by a series of forays on every side.

Lent came, and brought with it the moderating touch of spring. Icy winds blew no longer from the frost-bound waters of the Euxine. At last all was ready. The fleet was divided into squadrons, to each of which was assigned a battalion of the host, and on Thursday, April 8th, 1204, Boniface gave the order for embarkation. The galleys took the transports and ships in tow, and the long line, half a league from wing to wing, moved slowly across the harbour toward the crowded walls of the city.

Evening shut down as the fleet reached position just out of bowshot of the walls, and the anchors were lowered. The last rays of the sun were caught on waving banners and pennons, the blazonry of armorial shields, the polished tips of weapons. Trumpets brayed from ship to ship. Gittern, rubible, cymbal, nakir and drum taunted the proud, wicked city. Priestly voices chanted the order for vespers.

From the crowded walls there came a strident answer. There, too, processions of priests, bearing holy relics and ikons, marched along the battlements, imploring the powers of Heaven to guard the Imperial City--the city which had meant so much to mankind, for all its dark present, which had been the bulwark of Christianity since Constantine first traced its limits with his spear, whilst the Archangel walked before him. There, too, trumpets clanged, cymbals clashed and men shouted defiance.

Night quelled the tumult, but it could not erase hate from the hearts of men. They slept dreaming only of the death they hoped to deal to others on the morrow.

With the first hint of dawn, the fleet moved forward. Stones, nets of forged bolts, casks of Greek fire, arrows, cross-bow bolts, jagged balks of timber, huge javelins, whirling pieces of chain, whistled and droned and blazed through the air. Ships were crushed and battered, forced out of line; but all those that could pressed on into the hail of missiles. Each ship or galley that survived ran up to a tower and landed men on the bank at its foot or assailed the garrison from flying bridges and belfreys. The horse-transports lay off out of range, waiting until an entrance should be forced. But they waited in vain. Frequently the besiegers thought they were on the brink of victory, but every time the Greeks were reinforced and the assault pushed back.

Villehardouin's company on the _Paradise_ were directed against a tower near the Gate of St. Theodosia, which was fronted by a broad strip of land. It was necessary for them to go ashore under the fire of catapults and archers, carry ladders across the open space and then endeavour to climb to the battlements. The task was hopeless, for they were always outnumbered three or four to one. Their ladders were swept by monstrous stones; their eyes were filled with quicklime; Greek fire boiled them in their armour. They returned to the attack again and again, but they knew they could not succeed. And when the signal for retirement was displayed from Dandolo's galley at nones, they collected their dead and wounded and withdrew sullenly with the rest of the host, the cheers of the exultant Greeks resounding in their ears.

It was a defeat, the bitterest the host had experienced, and the Doge summoned a parliament to meet at vespers in the church of Galata for consideration of their plight. The barons came, sore in pride, bleeding from wounds, disappointed and morose. Again dissension raised its head.

"We are well-punished for our sins," cried a German knight in the company of Boniface. "This is the judgment of Heaven upon us for our failure to go on to Outremer. We are under God's disfavour. Let us----"

"You speak like a child, Messer," interrupted Dandolo coldly. "We are fighting the battles of Heaven here just as much as if we levelled lances against the Saracens. We are fighting to bring back the Eastern Christians to acknowledge that the Holy Apostle of Rome holds Peter's keys. We are fighting to redeem a rich land from injustice and tyranny. We are fighting to erect a base whence greater armies may come after us and engage in the conquest of Jerusalem and all Outremer, with some hope of success."

A murmur of comment greeted this.

"It may be that all your Magnificence says hath truth in it," spoke up a Burgundian boldly. "Yet certes no man will deny we failed miserably where all thought victory would be easily won."

"Fools!" snarled Dandolo. "'Twas for that you were defeated!"

Those blind eyes hovered over the room, cowing the disaffected who had not spoken. But the Burgundian persisted.

"Mayhap, Lord Doge," he kept on doggedly. "But there were other reasons. We attacked where the Greeks were ready for us. Belike, we should have gone otherwhere. Why were we not led against the sea-walls? They are the lowest of all, and the Greeks were not there in force."

"If you had listened in our councils, you would not have asked that question," replied the Doge wearily. "Know, sir knight, that the current through the strait which washes the land walls is so swift that no vessel can remain stationary opposite the walls without risking being dashed to pieces against them."

The Burgundian and his friends were silenced, but the blanket of gloom was not lifted from the assembly. And when Sir James rose in his place, all eyes turned hopefully to his lean figure, erect and vigorous as a youth's, despite the snow-white hair which crowned his splendid head. Hugh, sitting beside him, wondered if others there were as proud as he was of this knight who had stepped so debonairly from the oblivion of the tomb back to the life of men.

"With your favour, Lord Doge," began Sir James.

"I speak for all the lords of the host when I say we are right glad to hear your counsel, sir knight," replied Dandolo courteously.

"I cry you thanks, Magnificence. I have listened here to what hath been said and it hath come to me that there is somewhat of justice in the complaint that our attack was ill-conceived--for which are we all to blame, in that we did not prepare as we should have done."

"How so?" asked Dandolo with interest.

"Thus. I noted that the galley upon which I fought was called upon to fight alone against a tower, and there were in that tower many times the men in our company. So ran the order all along the line. We were assailing, ship by ship, an hundred towers. But how had it been, fair lords, had we tied ship to ship, and every twain of us come against one tower? Bethink you, lords, by such means may we prevail."

There was a stir of interest.

"Messer James hath the right of it," said Boniface.

"Ay, so."

Villehardouin, Count Baldwin and a dozen others echoed the words. Dandolo nodded.

"'Tis a simple plan and well-conceived," he agreed. "Mayhap much can be achieved by it. How say you, lords? We are not yet defeated. Shall we accept Sir James's advice and show the Greeks they do exult too much?"

He inclined his head as he spoke, and in the momentary silence all could hear the far-off clamour of church-bells, ringing in Constantinople to celebrate the retreat of the besiegers.

"Forward! Lead us again! Victory for the host! Let us go back!"

Like the challenge of a tempest, the hoarse shouts reverberated through the stone aisles of the church. Sword-hilts rattled against shields. Wounds, weariness, losses of friends were forgotten. The knights surged around their leaders, clamouring to be led back to the attack. But Dandolo quieted the din with his first words.

"The spirit that you show doth do you honour, Messers," he said. "But you must be guided by wisdom, not anger. To-day you have done all that men may. Now do you rest at your ease. To-morrow and the next day we will spend in repairing our vessels, for certes they have suffered no less than you. On the third day we will attack again, and prove to the Greeks how the men-at-arms of the West can fight against odds."

The parliament broke up in a mood of hope and confidence which had seemed impossible to expect when it began. The following day was a Saturday, and all ranks of the host laboured from morning until night to make good damages to armour and equipment, whilst the Venetians hammered and sawed at the repairs to the fleet. On Sunday all rested, and the clerks shrived such as had cause to plead for Divine mercy. In the twilight of early morning, on Monday, April 12th, the armament moved from its moorings on the Galata shore, stealing through the wreathing mists, so that the Greeks might have no warning in advance of the new tactics which had been adopted.

The ships and galleys went two and two, bound rigidly together. The front of attack was reduced by half, and some fifty towers were singled out for assault, care being taken wherever possible to pick those which could be boarded directly from the vessels. But the Greeks were not caught unprepared. The walls were heavily garrisoned, and in an open space in the rear, swept bare by the two disastrous fires of the preceding summer, the Emperor Murtzuphlus waited at the head of a body of armoured knights equal in strength to the entire muster of the host.

From the flying bridge swung from the mainmast of the _Paradise_, the comrades had a clear view of the whole line of battle. Miles and miles of walls, hundreds of machines, a sky darkened by the flights of missiles, a deafening clamour of voices, and behind all the bulk of the mighty city, street after street, hill after hill, smoking and steaming and bellowing defiance at the puny array that threatened it.

"By St. Cuthbert, but 'tis a marvellous spectacle!" exclaimed Hugh.

"I saw the hordes of Saladin stream over the Mount of Olives against the Holy City," answered his father. "'Twas not like this. How say you, Matteo?"

"Ay, indeed, fair lord. I have heard men tell of that scene, and I doubt not this surpasses it."

"'Tis monstrous distressing to think how easy it makes the slaying of a body," remarked Ralph, as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and straddled his feet to meet the swaying of their perch.

"Art not afraid, Ralph?" queried Matteo humorously. "Belike the sea-sickness is gripping you again?"

"Art always poking fun, Messer Matteo," reproached the archer. "Certes, you know well I have never suffered from the sea-sickness since that first voyage over the Narrow Seas."

"Then it must be plain fear that hath gripped you, Ralph," said Hugh, mock-solemnly.

"Fear?" returned Ralph indignantly. "I should like to see anybody else telling me so! But I will admit, Messer Hugh, I am often giving up hope we shall ever see England again, what with all the ventures we run into."

Sir James laughed.

"Talk not to me of Ralph's fears," he said. "How many varlets would fare as far as hath he, and never know a qualm for home--ay, or what knight, either?"

He clapped Ralph on the back. "Fear naught, lad. An I still live, after eight years entombed, doubt not you shall win home. And when you do, Ralph, 'tis in my mind to make you constable of Chesby Castle and appoint you to the raising of a company of bowmen like yourself. How now, Hugh? What lord would hunger for our lands, an we had such a guard for them?"

"You say sooth, sweet lord," replied Hugh. "But--Ha!"

He raised his shield and deflected a crossbow quarrel which was aimed at his father's shoulder.

"Shoot fast, Ralph," he cried. "An you may, keep down the fire of yon archers!"

The _Paradise_, buckled by stout cables to the hull of the _Pilgrim_, Dandolo's flagship, was rowing clumsily toward a tower near the Gate of Ispigas, where there was almost no land betwixt the foot of the tower walls and the water. A constantly freshening wind had sprung up since the fleet began its advance, blowing against the sterns of the vessels and driving the water upon the city shore of the harbour, with the effect of deepening the channel adjacent to the walls. With this fortuitous circumstance to aid them the Venetians were able to approach closer than ever before.

Ralph shot as rapidly as he could nock his arrows and aim, and his clothyard shafts wrought havoc with the tower's defenders. They drove through mantlets, shields and armour, and the comrades gave him good cover with their shields when the Greek archers sought to answer him. Nearer and nearer rowed the _Paradise_. She was so close now that the catapults on the walls could not be brought to bear upon her. The stones and other missiles flew over the vessel and splashed harmlessly into the water.

The comrades, with Villehardouin and other knights, stepped out upon the flying bridge, which Venetian shipmen lowered by ropes and pulleys from the masthead to the level of the tower's top. Sir James and Hugh, leaning against the webbed ropes which guarded the end of their frail foot rest, crossed lances with the Greeks on the tower. Strange faces frowned at them; strange war-cries rang in their ears. Ralph shot his arrows between their shoulders, sometimes transfixing two and three of the enemy at one discharge. Nearer and nearer crept the _Paradise_ and her mate the _Pilgrim_. Looking down for a fleeting instant from the dizzy height of the flying-bridge, Hugh saw the armoured figure of the Doge, the gonfalon of St. Mark beside him, standing impassively on the stern-castle of their companion-vessel.

Suddenly Hugh heard his father's voice through the eye-holes of his helm.

"Art ready, Hugh?"

He nodded for answer, and turned to see if Matteo was poised behind him. The jongleur's eyes met his with a cool smile. The next instant the end of the flying-bridge touched the tower's battlements, and Sir James leaped high in air. For the space of a breath Hugh hesitated, conscious though he was of others jostling his heels for the next chance. The tower looked so small, the ground and water so far below. But he shut his eyes and leaped.

He landed in a press of bodies, and caught a sword-stroke on his shield. There were Greeks all around him, and a few feet distant he saw his father similarly encompassed. But while he looked Matteo joined him. Then came Villehardouin and others. Soon there were as many Crusaders as Greeks on the tower. The Greeks began to cast down their arms and flee. The Crusaders leaped forward and quickly won the postern giving upon the wall. Villehardouin led a rush to the street behind the walls and flung open the nearby gate. A signal was displayed from the _Pilgrim_, and the horse-transports trimmed their sails to the favouring breeze and headed for the shore.

Demoralisation spread rapidly amongst the Greeks. Tower after tower was carried; gate after gate was opened. And presently columns of mounted knights were riding into the water-front streets of Constantinople.

Villehardouin's troop swung northward as soon as their horses were landed. They were directed to seize the Palace of Blachernae, and in advance of the column, rode the comrades, shoulder to shoulder, hoofs thundering on the cobbled way. Such Greeks as they encountered fled up the side-streets. They saw no soldiers all the way to the great gate of the Palace, which a parcel of frightened varlets were trying to shut.

These scurried off at first sight of the invaders, but Hugh ran down one in the courtyard and his father cross-questioned the man. The Court had gone, the fellow quavered. Everybody but the servants had left for the Palace of the Bucoleon--except those who were fighting upstairs.

"Who?" demanded Sir James.

"Nay, lord, I know not. I saw the black mutes on the stairs, and I fled."

The man was obviously hysterical with fright, and Sir James let him go.

"Put up your horses," he ordered. "We must look into this."

With swords drawn, they passed the outer courtyard and explored the vast emptiness of the Palace, hundreds of gorgeous rooms and corridors, scores of buildings and gardens. They did not find a trace of human existence until they came upon the body of a dead Varangian at the foot of the steps leading to the Hall of Audience. Farther up the steps, under the columned portico, lay a heap of Varangians and mutes of the Ethiopian Guard.

As they cautiously entered the doorway of the Hall itself a cry of horror escaped the lips of every one of them. The magnificent chamber, floored and walled and roofed with semi-precious stones, carpeted with ancient rugs and tapestries, was a shambles running blood. Dead men lay in windrows and scattered piles, and on the steps of the Imperial throne a wall of corpses was reared, topped by one body half-erect. The helmet had been hacked off; the gilded armour and scarlet surcoat were rent and torn and stained with blood; the grey beard was flecked with gore.

"Sir Cedric!" exclaimed Hugh in awe.

"Ay, 'tis the Grand Acolyth," said Sir James. "Here is foul work!"

They lifted the body from the corpses that cumbered it, and stretched it in a clear corner beside the dais. As they stood back, Sir Cedric's eyes flickered open.

"Mocenigo," he gasped, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Hugh's face was twisted with pain.

"Edith!" he cried. "Ah, I knew he intended evil! 'Tis he and Helena Comnena, I will warrant!"

There was a wild shriek from the recess behind the throne. A fat, shapeless figure staggered out, and swayed back and forth, arms upraised.

"Oh, Messer Hugh! Is it you? In sooth, is it you? And Ralph Fletcher of Chesby that I knew as a babe--ay, from suckling-time, and the mother that bore him! Is it you? Say, is it you? By the Holy Virgin and all the company of blessed saints,--by St. Cuthbert of Crowden and the Blessed Cedric and Edward, Ethelreda and Swithin, Hubert and Agnes, St. Cornelia, St. Martha, St.----"

"Messer Hugh, 'tis Dame Alicia," shouted Ralph. "Now, is that not a favour from Heaven that----"

But Hugh had ears for none of them. He took the old nurse by the shoulders and shook her gently.

"'Tis I, in sooth, good dame," he assured her. "Prithee, calm yourself. Be at ease. You are safe. Naught shall harm you. Do but tell us what hath become of the Lady Edith?"

"Oh, sorry is the day that ever we came into this land of wicked, un-Christian people! I had warning of our doom ere we sailed, and certes, I told my lady, but----"

"Whither hath she gone?" insisted Hugh.

"Gone? Why, with that false Italian hound, Mocenigo--and Messer Comnenus and his harlot of a daughter. Sir Cedric was to garrison the Palace here after the Court left; and this morning Messer Comnenus and Mocenigo came hither with their black men and demanded of Sir Cedric that he give up my lady to them--and they fought."

"Ay," said Hugh, unable to check her flow of words. "But whither did they carry her?"

"I heard talk of a galley--ay, and as they left the room Messer Comnenus called back to Mocenigo: 'We meet at the Kontoscalion.'"

"The Harbour of the Kontoscalion!" exclaimed Sir James. "'Tis on the Marmora shore, west of the Bucoleon. They must be planning to slip across to Asia. We must hasten, Hugh, an we would catch them."