Chapter IX: The Comrades Take the Cross

"Kyrie Eleison!" wailed the man Matteo had rescued. "We are delivered from one set of thieves to fall into the clutches of another band more numerous."

Hugh eyed him with some amusement, noting, too, the flush that stained the dusky cheeks of the girl in the green habit. He was a well-made man, plump, with the air of a personage used to good service and soft beds. His coat of rich eastern cloth was trimmed with beaver. His face was handsome, even scholarly, but marred by a certain petulant arrogance.

"Your fears are reasonless, father," said the girl sharply. "And rather than bemoan our fate, we should thank these gallant knights for their aid. But for them we should be on our way to the lair of the outlaws."

"Indeed, lady, you make much of what is of no moment," remonstrated Hugh. "And we are not knights, but plain squires."

"You fight like paladins, Messers," she returned with a flash of eyes and teeth.

"My daughter saith truth," approved the man. "Squires you may be, but knights you will become, an you perform many such deeds of arms. I would it were in my power to recompense you as befits your prowess and my degree, but I am an exile from my home, fair sirs, and my means are limited. In so far as I may, I am at your command."

"There is no thought of debt," answered Hugh. "But I would I knew who these men-at-arms may be. What think you, Matteo?"

"We shall learn anon," said the jongleur sententiously. "See!"

The forest of spears had halted in the entrance to the clearing, and two men rode forward from the serried ranks. One wore the habiliments of a priest, and his mount was a quick-footed mule. His dress was mean, but the grim face that peered out from the wide cowl challenged instant attention. Gaunt to the verge of emaciation and seared with deep-riven lines, its mobile lips firm-shut, the outstanding feature was the eyes that blazed with almost maniacal brilliance in their hollow sockets.

The other rider was far different in aspect. He bestrode a broad-flanked war-horse, and was sheathed in mail of proof. A blood-red cross barred the left breast of his surcoat. All his appointments were those of a warrior. He was of a middle-height, apparently about forty years old, and his head, under its cap of state, was large and finely shaped. He had a jutting beaked nose and brown eyes that might look merry, but were now hard and stern. Hugh knew this man for a leader, accustomed to command and to be obeyed.

But it was the priest who spoke first.

"What means this slaughter?" he cried threateningly, as he picked his way amongst the bodies that cluttered the grass of the crossroads. "Know ye not that knight-errantry is forbid? The Holy Apostle of Rome hath banned all such who shed the blood of fellow-Christians rather than go to slay the Infidels. Speak ere I curse you, and your souls are condemned to Hell!"

"Curse, and 'tis to your liking, holy friar," returned Matteo, who had been more directly addressed. "I never yet knew that the Church countenanced robbery and murder."

The priest glared at him, and Hugh hastened to intervene.

"This hath been no fight of our choosing, fair sirs," he said. "In passing this spot we found this lord and his lady daughter in the power of a band of forest runners, who were murdering their servants. We charged the varlets for the sake of kindliness, and were like to have been killed ourselves, for they were exceeding desperate."

"Why, that is a reasonable tale," spoke up the knight who rode by the friar.

The priest scowled.

"This man is a jongleur," he said, pointing accusingly to Matteo's gittern, which was fastened to the back of his saddle.

"That is so," assented Matteo. "'Tis no crime in the Holy Land whence I come, sir friar."

"Hast been in Outremer?" enquired the knight eagerly.

"Even so, lord."

The priest scowled fiercer still.

"Y'are no respecter of God's servants, 'twould seem," he snapped. "Why left you the Holy Land? What better place to live than the scene of Our Saviour's passion?"

"As to that, sir friar," answered Matteo coolly, "I came even to see how it was the Christians of the West were so long in mustering to the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre."

The priest gnashed his teeth.

"Ay, 'tis true," he cried, "and even this jongleur, this panderer to the sinfulness of man, this singer of lewd songs and love rhymes--even he taunteth us with our wickedness, for that we have forgotten Our Lord who died for us! Woe, woe unto all ye who turn not into the narrow path! Woe, I say, unto ye, all ye who do not abandon the work of the world for the work of God! The sinful have taunted us, and we may not answer! So far have we strayed from the way our feet were set upon!"

He tossed his arms wildly overhead and rode on alone, heedless of the rest of the company.

"A pleasant fellow," quoth Matteo. "He liked not the manner of my face, I take it."

The knight laughed.

"'Tis Messer Fulke of Neuilly. He is the preacher of the Crusade by the Holy Apostle's own writ. He is like unto the Sainted Peter the Hermit, who preached the First Crusade to our fathers. A most pious man, Messers, but certes, one not over-comfortable to live with. I am glad he hath passed on before. I had wished myself a Paynim an I had been afflicted much longer with his company."

He hesitated and regarded them enquiringly, his gaze sweeping from Hugh and Matteo to the strange lord and his daughter, who had sat quietly throughout the conversation.

"I, lords," he said courteously, bowing to the lady, "am the Lord Geoffrey de Villehardouin, Marshal of Champagne, and I ride with the knights and men-at-arms of my master, the Count of Champagne, to join the Crusade which sails from Venice after Easter. Prithee, can I be of service to you?"

"Lord Marshal," replied the strange lord pompously, "I am one unknown to you, although perchance you have heard of my ill fate. I am the Cæsar Michael Comnenus, an exile from Constantinople, and this is my daughter the Lady Helena. We are riding from Germany into Italy to seek news of our affairs. Of these brave squires I know not even their names, but I can vouch for their gallantry. It had gone hard with us had they not ridden to our rescue."

"Certes, I have heard of the troubles of the Cæsar Michael Comnenus," answered the Marshal of Champagne. "Yours is a sad story, lord, and one all too common in these days in Byzantium, if the tales we hear are true. I pray you, sir, do you and your daughter ride with us south into Italy. So you shall be guarded against other mishaps. And now, young sirs, may I have the pleasure of knowing you?"

"I am Hugh, lord of Chesby in England," returned Hugh. "I ride on a quest to Outremer. This is Messer Matteo of Antioch, my friend and comrade, who journeys with me."

"Chesby!" exclaimed the Marshal.

Even the Cæsar and his daughter leaned forward in their saddles at the name.

"You are of the blood of Sir James?" asked Villehardouin.

"I am his son. I go to seek him."

"To seek him? But, lordling, he is----"

"He lives," interrupted Hugh coldly.

"Lives?" protested the Greek. "Sir James de Chesby lives? Where heard you that, Messer Englishman?"

"It matters not, fair sir. I know."

The Lady Helena interposed.

"Is it not right and just that a son should seek news of a father who hath been lost to him?" she said softly. "A brave quest, Lord Hugh. May the Immaculate One walk beside you."

For an instant the long lashes lifted and her eyes beamed into his. Then they were decorously veiled. Hugh's heart thumped faster, and he pressed one hand against his hauberk where a hunting-glove nestled beneath the mail.

"You are very kind, lady," he muttered.

But the Cæsar was not so readily satisfied. A weak man, he was unconscionably stubborn.

"It is because I admire the courage and chivalry of the young English lord that I would convince him of the uselessness of his search," he persisted. "Sir James--the Panagia rest his soul!--is dead these many years. Turn your arms to the task of the Crusade, Lord Hugh. There you shall win honours to match your merit."

Hugh listened gravely. The man was his senior in age and of exalted rank.

"I will consider your counsel, lord," he answered, and turned away.

Despite Hugh's reserve, Comnenus would have said more. But Villehardouin picked up his reins.

"Your pardon, lords," he apologised, "but it is a long ride yet to Troyes. We must be on our way. An you do me the honour, I would fain have your company. I must hear more of this quest of yours, Lord Hugh."

He raised in his stirrups and flung a bellow of command behind him. The forest of lances stirred into motion and flowed after them.

As the column proceeded, other knights rode forward and joined the group attending the Marshal. These new-comers gathered thickest about the Lady Helena, and Hugh found occasion for a word in private with Matteo.

"Hast any key to these Greeks?" he questioned.

Matteo's brows were furrowed by a puzzled frown.

"Only this: they are of the Comnenoi, an Imperial house, and they were forced into exile after the death of Andronicus, your father's friend, last of that line to sit on the throne of Byzantium. He was assassinated by one of the Angeloi, and 'tis the brother of that Angelos, you will remember, who rules now in Constantinople. This pair are on some errand of intrigue."

"But why is this man so sure of my father's death?"

"Would that I knew, comrade! Why are all those with the taint of the Greek Court so sure of it?"

"Ay, that is true," Hugh admitted sombrely. "Yet these two are exiles. What interest can they have?"

"They are Greeks--and they hope some time to rule in Constantinople. There are two causes for any lie."

"'Tis passing strange," Hugh conceded, "but mayhap I suffer from the canker of suspicion. I will strive to banish it. I must not suspect every stranger from Outremer of being an enemy to me."

"Banish it not, Hugh," advised Matteo earnestly. "Be ever on your guard. Certes, it was more than strange our meeting here in France with these two from Constantinople. Be on your guard against all Greeks. A slippery, treacherous race!"

Before Hugh could answer the Marshal rode to his side.

"That was a pretty bicker you fought by the crossroads," Villehardouin said warmly. "These forest varlets are no mean foes. Where got you those huge arrows I marked sticking in some of the rogues?"

"My follower here shot them from his long-bow," explained Hugh. "Ralph, do you show how 'tis done."

The Marshal cried out in wonder at the great yew bow, a man's-length tall.

"Never have I seen such a weapon," he exclaimed. "Certes, it must be stronger than a cross-bow. Is it common in England?"

"Not so, Lord Marshal," returned Hugh, while Ralph grinned sheepishly, proud to have his pet noticed by the French knight. "Ralph's father served in the wars on the Welsh March. The Welsh are a mountain people, very nimble and swift of foot, and they make bows somewhat like this, but not so big. Ralph's father took the Welsh bow and made it longer and stouter, until he had this."

The Frenchman shook his head as he tried to draw the strung bow to his shoulder.

"Never saw I the like," he repeated. "Arm a peasantry with it, and they would be invincible."

"Mayhap some day we shall," said Hugh lightly.

"I would we had some companies of your archers for service against the Paynims," replied the Marshal. "Our ranks are none too full, Messers."

"How is that?"

"One accident or another--and all the Kings stand aside. But we are not cast down, and 'tis a sturdy host will sail for Babylon. The Venetians are lending us a fleet of war-galleys, and the picked men-at-arms of Flanders, Champagne, Burgundy, Germany, Tuscany, Lombardy and the Southern marches are riding in our train. What we lack most are funds and in sooth, Messers, the Holy Apostle and his Cardinals are not so generous as they might be with the pittances they have collected from the stay-at-homes."

"I would we might ride with you," said Hugh.

"And why not?" Villehardouin proposed. "Every strong arm counts, and you, Messer Matteo, would be invaluable to us, with your knowledge of Outremer and the Saracens. Come, now, Messers. Consider the opportunity. I do not boast when I say that you would ride in good company."

"Ah, Lord Marshal," said Hugh sadly, "but you forget my quest. I may not depart from that."

"Your quest takes you to Outremer. We voyage thither, too."

"But I must go first to Constantinople."

"Ah, so!" Villehardouin considered. "I would not have on my soul the breaking of any man's vow. Yet I pray you, fair sirs, think well of what I have said. It may be that we can compound the matter, so that Messer Hugh will do no violence to his conscience. You, Messer Matteo, will not part from your friend?"

"Where he rides, there I ride also," returned Matteo steadily.

"Well spoken!" applauded the Marshal. "By St. Remigius of Reims, y'are a staunch pair, and I would I might have you by me! At the least, ride with us into Italy. If you would journey to Constantinople, you must take ship from Venice for Genoa, and it may be I can assist you in some sort, for the Doge Dandolo is friendly to me."

With the keen tact that characterised him, Villehardouin dropped the subject there; but he talked on tirelessly, for he was a man insatiable in his pursuit of knowledge. He asked Matteo concerning the Saracens and their mode of warfare, and he was equally curious regarding Hugh's training in England.

"An you have been well-exercised in arms, y'are no worse off for delay in taking the field," he asserted. "Many a boy is thrown and crippled in his first tourney for lack of strength to stand the blows."

But what caused him to marvel most was the fact that Hugh had been taught to read and write.

"What," he cried, "you can write fair script like the holy fathers? 'Tis wellnigh beyond belief, lordling. And you read? Latin, too, say you? St. Remigius aid me! Ah, I would I had the art. All my life have I longed for it, but the toil of arms and my seigneury have left me no opportunity--or perchance furnished my idleness an excuse. But in my embassages and visits to courts and parliaments of barons, how great an aid would it have been to me had I been able to set down that which happened in writing that it might never have been lost. Ah, God, fair sirs, this is a matter very close to my heart!"

"If I can be of service to you on the journey. Lord Marshal, I shall count it an honour," proffered Hugh.

"That is right courteously said," Villehardouin responded with boyish alacrity. "Doubt not I shall make use of you, with your permission. I like not to use the monkish scribes. They are too foreign in their understanding. An you will bear with me, I shall have much for your hand to write."

The pleasant company and the ceaseless clatter of thousands of hoofs at their heels made the ride into Troyes seem very short; but it was dusk when they entered the gates and passed up the main street, torch and cresset glaring on hauberk and byrnie, shield and lance-point, sword and battle-axe. From the marketplace came the clamour of a crowd hysterically excited.

"Messer Fulke has aroused the good people again," commented Villehardouin, with the cynicism of the great noble, to whom the Crusade, first and last, was mainly an opportunity for adventure in a good cause. "Lord Hugh, Messer Matteo, I shall meet you anon."

He turned into an inn courtyard, leaving the comrades in the street.

"Shall we seek quarters?" asked Matteo.

"Ay," said Hugh, "but first I would see this mad priest, an you favour it. Ralph can find us an inn."

"Oh, if you will," agreed Matteo resignedly. "Belike he will curse me in earnest this time."

A myriad torches illuminated the crowd that surged and swayed from wall to wall across the market-place. In the centre, upon a heap of faggots, stood the lean figure of the preacher, a crucifix in one hand. He shook the holy emblem at his listeners as if it was a weapon, and whenever he raised it in anger the people groaned and whined like beaten dogs. Those nearest to him continually snatched at his garments, content if they could kiss a fold of his robe or the sandals on his feet. It was to these that Messer Fulke addressed himself, as the comrades slowly forced their way through the throng.

"Ah, what fools ye be!" he shouted in his deep, ringing voice. "You seek virtue in my garments, say you? Well, I will not guarantee that you shall find what you seek there. But this I will warrant you: Behold!"

He leaned down and plucked at the cloak of a man in the front rank of those around him.

"On this I make the sign of the Cross--and it hath a virtue which shall assoil all sins."

He caught the cloak from its owner and tore it into strips, talking as he worked. From the strips he fashioned rude crosses, and the thousands in the square fought to claim one.

"Here I can assure you the peace of Heaven and forgiveness of sins," he proclaimed, as he cast the crosses to all within reach. "By the virtue they possess, if ye make good the obligation they carry with them, your sins shall be assoiled. But think not to lay aside the burden once assumed. There is a mighty task awaiting you, and Christ calls upon you to begin. Rich and poor, old and young, merchant and seigneur, serf and villein, all of ye hear Christ's call. Go forth in his service, and ye shall win everlasting life."

The crowd were in a frenzy, moaning and weeping and beating their breasts, calling upon saints, praying in the gutters.

"Show us a miracle, Messer Fulke," cried an hysterical voice from the fringes of the throng.

The appeal was taken up and tossed about, until a chorus of voices were demanding it.

"Show us a miracle, Messer Fulke! A miracle such as you showed the people of Paris! Give us a miracle!"

The priest raised his gaunt arms in a magnificent gesture of command. Instantly the crowd sobered into silence.

"A miracle ye call for!" he said slowly, his words falling distinct as the tolling of a bell. "Oh, ye foolish ones, ye of little faith! A miracle ye must have in order that ye shall believe!"

His tones became scornful.

"When did Fulke of Neuilly ever claim to be a worker of miracles? But I will show you that which is all but a miracle, an ye ask for it. I will show ye the haughty and highly-placed brought to serve God's purpose against their will. Look carefully, oh, people!"

There was a deadly hush, and Fulke leaned forward from his heap of faggots.

"Ride near, sir knights," he called to Hugh and Matteo. "Ay, to my feet, an it please you."

By magic a lane opened before their horses, there was a pressure of bodies from the rear, and the comrades found themselves immediately under the preacher's stand.

"I thought I knew ye, slayers of outlaws, players of light music, doers of errant deeds," he exclaimed sarcastically. "Here I give you a chance to redeem your souls from the burden of sin that rests upon them."

And before they could protest, he took strips from the citizen's cloak and pinned crosses to their surcoats.

"There is a miracle for you," he shouted to the crowd, and a din of rejoicing arose from the packed ranks.

The people pressed closer, not only kissing Fulke's clothing, but striving to snatch bits of the comrades' surcoats, in which they fancied some sure virtue to have been embodied. Hugh and Matteo were forced to fight their way out of the throng. It was impossible for them to protest against the priest's act. Had they done so they would have been torn to pieces. As it was, they did not feel safe until they were swallowed in the shadows of a side-street.

"Do you believe in God?" asked Hugh, as he fingered the coarse cloth of the cross that sprawled across his breast.

"Sometimes," answered Matteo quietly. "And sometimes I believe in the Fate of which the Saracens teach."

"Which brought this about?"

"God knows," said the jongleur.

And involuntarily he crossed himself.