Crusade Page 7

  What if the dust of Jerusalem does work? he kept asking himself. The real stuff? I’d do anything to get it. I’d kill for it.

  The bell summoning everyone to dinner clanged out at last across the bailey.

  Adam took no notice, but went on combing the burrs out of the silky ears of the spaniel he held between his knees.

  ‘Stop that,’ Master Tappe snarled at him. ‘You heard the bell. Wash your filthy face, get that muck off your hands and get over to the keep. Do you want to miss your dinner?’

  Surprised, Adam put the comb back on the shelf and ran off, smoothing his unruly black hair as he went.

  The great hall of Castle Fortis was already full of people. A sumptuous display of flagons and dishes was laid out on the cloth-covered table set on a dais that ran along the far end of the hall. Bare wooden trestles ran away from it down the length of the hall, and the many castle inhabitants were already crowding up to them to take their seats on the benches. Adam was about to sit down when someone yanked his arm.

  ‘Who do you think you are? Not here. It’s down the bottom, with the likes of you.’

  Embarrassed, he moved in the direction of the man’s pointing finger and found a place at the farthest end from the dais, between a mumbling old woman and a greasy boy who stank of pigs.

  The sudden braying of a trumpet startled him so much that he nearly shot up off the bench. He looked round. Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed. They were all scrambling to their feet and watching the door behind the dais.

  A hush had fallen on the crowded hall. The door opened. Lord Guy walked through it with the King’s messenger at his side. He was followed by Lord Robert, resplendent in a scarlet tunic belted with a silver girdle. A tall pale woman and two little girls came next, and last of all came the gaunt black-robed priest Adam had glimpsed before.

  ‘You’re new, ain’t you?’ the pig boy whispered with a snuffle into Adam’s ear. ‘Father Jerome, that is. Eyes in the back of ’is ’ead. You want to watch out for ’im.’

  Adam studied the priest. He’d never seen anyone with such a penetrating gaze. The man was scanning the hall with glittering eyes, like a hawk seeking prey, turning his long lean face as he did so to show his magnificent beak of a nose.

  The nobles sat down in the high-backed chairs behind the dais. Father Jerome cleared his throat and in a harsh voice intoned a Latin prayer. There was a muffled scraping of wood on the rush-strewn stone floor when he finished, as everyone sat down and pulled the benches up to the tables.

  Adam’s experience of life had led him to expect very little for himself, so he didn’t share the pig boy’s greedy interest in the platters of food passing by, carried high by a procession of pages to the nobles at the top table. He barely glanced at the haunches of roast meat, the tureens of steaming stews, the raised pies, mounds of vegetables and loaves of fine white bread. He was too busy looking round at the people, trying to work out who was who, and if there might be anyone in this noisy crowd who might turn out to be a friend. It took him a while to pick out Jennet, but saw her at last on the bottom end of another table. She had her back to him, but he could see she was constantly glancing up to the top table where Lord Robert stood, like a proper squire, behind his father’s chair.

  ‘Don’t think any of that stuff’s for us,’ the pig boy was grumbling beside him. ‘The leftovers. That’s all we’ll get.’

  The lowest end of the hall was served last, and though the tureen full of vegetable stew with a few pieces of meat floating on the top was almost cold, it was good enough for Adam.

  Beside him, the pig boy was tearing at a bone, the juice from the meat running down his chin to splatter his already filthy clothes.

  ‘Nice bit o’ pork,’ he said through a full mouth. ‘Must be one of my own piglets what I slaughtered this morning. I knew they’d be a tasty lot.’ He had picked his bone clean, held it up and stared at it. ‘I bet you that’s the mark of my knife, there, where I stuck it into ’im.’

  Adam stared at him with distaste.

  ‘You like killing things then, do you?’

  The pig boy grinned.

  ‘Course I do. You should hear ’em squeal! Like babies. And when the blood runs they struggle. That’s the best part of it for me.’ He began to gnaw at the lump of gristle at the end of the bone. ‘Talking of killin’, did you hear about the Jews? In York? Hundreds of ’em. Rounded up, stuck with knives, killed dead good and proper.’

  ‘What? Who?’ Adam was bewildered. ‘People killed?’

  ‘Don’t know much, do yer? Not people. Jews! Them as killed Christ our Lord! Good riddance, that’s what I say. Wish I’d been there to see.’

  ‘They killed Christ? But that was years ago. They’re long dead. They must be.’

  ‘Not those Jews. That was their grand-daddies. But they’re all the same, ain’t they? Kill a Christian for the fun of it. They deserve what they got.’

  ‘What had they done?’

  ‘Done? Wicked evil, that’s what they done. Don’t want ’em in England, do we? Good Christians we are, ain’t we?’

  He gave a self-righteous sniff, threw the bone over his shoulder and wiped his fingers across his tunic.

  Adam ate on, thinking about what he’d just heard. He knew little about the world outside the valley where he’d been born. Castle Fortis at one end of it and the town of Ashton at the other, with the woods on the hilly crests above, had always been the boundaries of his small world. He’d heard of cities and even countries beyond, of other people, who spoke in different languages. He’d even heard of people called Jews, from the ramblings of Father Gilbert, who had sometimes been bothered to mumble a sermon at the Sunday mass.

  Christ was a Jew, wasn’t he? he asked himself. And Our Lady? Or weren’t they? He decided to keep his mouth shut and his ears open in future. He didn’t want to show himself up like an ignorant fool.

  When they had almost finished eating, the music started. It surprised Adam so much that he sat for a full half-minute with his spoon suspended in the air. Apart from the dirge-like chanting of the mass in church, the ragged chorus of singing that followed the annual saint’s day procession in the village, and a hurdy-gurdy in the market in Ashton, the only music Adam had ever heard had been his mother’s occasional singing. The sound of the flute, viol and tambourine, coming from the corner of the hall, was so glorious that the hairs rose on his arms and back.

  When the music paused, he let out a long sigh. He looked up. Most people, except the nobles on the top table, had fallen silent to listen and were murmuring in appreciation. Then he saw, with a shock, that Lady Ysabel, Lord Guy’s pale, rigid wife, was staring at him. He turned round to look over his shoulder, sure that her attention must be fixed on something behind him, but there was nothing and no one there. Her lips, thin as her son Robert’s, were pressed together, and her blue eyes were expressionless. Adam uneasily dropped his own, but before he did so, he saw her touch Lord Guy’s arm and whisper in his ear, her mouth set in a hard line of disapproval.

  When he dared to look up again, Lady Ysabel had looked away, but now it was Lord Guy who was staring at him. The hall was warm and the wine had been flowing freely. The baron’s face, with its patch of raw red skin, was scarlet all over. He was fingering a jewelled goblet with one hand, and with the other was restlessly stroking the gold chain round his neck.

  I must have done something, thought Adam, panic stricken. I should have stayed with the dogs.

  He wanted to get up and creep away, but before he could move, Father Jerome rose to his feet and held up a hand. The musicians stopped playing. The falcon, which had been sitting on the back of Lord Guy’s chair, jumped down on to his shoulder, and Lord Guy’s eyes moved away from Adam as he picked out a piece of meat from the mangled joint in front of him and fed it to the bird. Adam let out a sigh of relief.

  Everyone stood as Father Jerome, in a precise, resonant voice, intoned the end-of-dinner grace. The grander members of the household, the chamberla
in and steward, along with a group of knights who had been sitting nearest the top table, clustered together to talk, while the humbler people, the grooms, carpenters, huntsmen, gardeners, general servants and ordinary men-at-arms, stood back against the walls to wait respectfully while their betters left the hall. But Lord Guy, rising unsteadily to his feet, called out, ‘Silence in the hall! Sir Ranulf, the King’s messenger, will address you.’

  Adam had barely looked at the King’s messenger. Now, as the man stood up, he saw that he was tall and lean and perfectly sober, unlike his host.

  ‘People of Fortis,’ he began, ‘today your noble lord, Baron Guy de Martel, Lord of Ashton, Sieur of Martingale, has performed a solemn vow. In answer to the summons of Richard, who is, by the grace of God, King of England, he has taken up the cross of Christ. He has sworn a sacred oath that he will lead a band of faithful men to Jerusalem—’ a gasp from the two hundred people in the hall interrupted him. He paused for a moment, then continued, ‘– to wrest the holy places from the evil monster, Saladin, who even now, with his Saracen hordes, is desecrating the sepulchre of Our Saviour, causing Our Lady to weep bitter tears of sorrow. The question is, will he go alone, or . . .’

  Something had caught in his throat and he began to cough. He took a sip from his goblet of wine and was about to continue when Father Jerome touched his arm and pointed behind him. The King’s messenger looked round and saw another man, a monk, enter the hall from the door behind the dais. He nodded and sat down.

  The word ‘Jerusalem’ had sent a thrill through Adam. He longed for the King’s messenger to say more.

  Astonished murmurs had broken out all round the hall but they died down as the monk strode to the front of the dais. His eyes burned in his thin face. He held out his arms and waited until not a sound could be heard in the hall, then waited a moment longer while the tension rose.

  ‘Christian souls!’ he cried, his voice rich with emotion. ‘Praise God for the example of your master, the noble Lord Guy! Do you know what a great thing he has done? Do you understand what great things he will do? He will brave the peril of the seas, but this will be nothing to him, for the cross of Christ will protect him. He will journey through far countries, over mountains and deserts, but these will not trouble him, for Christ will go on before to show the way. Storms will not harm him, robbers will not dare approach him—’ Adam’s eyes flickered for a moment to Lord Guy’s face. He wore a tremendous scowl and was taking another deep draught from his goblet. Beside him, Lady Ysabel was paler even than before, and she was biting her lower lip. But the monk’s thrilling voice drew Adam back again.

  ‘Men of Fortis, will you let your lord go alone? Will you wait for him alone to reap eternal glory and the favour of our Blessed Lady? But, you say, Lord Guy is our lord. If he commands us, we must obey. If he tells us to follow him, we will. And I say to you, that is not the way of the Crusader! Brothers, no unwilling soul must take up the cross! Only those who yearn for glory will be acceptable to Christ! Now who among you is man enough to follow where your liege lord leads?’

  The four knights standing near the dais, acting as one man, surged forwards and knelt in front of the monk. One by one, half the men-at-arms, led by their sergeant, stepped up behind them.

  ‘And you! You! You!’ the monk went on, lifting a finger to point, one after the other, at the men of the lesser orders who, with lowered eyes, were shuffling their feet uneasily at the far end of the hall, ‘Who among you will follow Christ’s call?’

  Something was stirring in Adam’s chest, a deep wave of feeling, but shyness held him back.

  The monk dropped his voice a tone.

  ‘I will not hide from you, my brothers, the difficulties of the Crusader way. The hardness of the road, the weariness and pains of battle, the determination of a wicked, infidel enemy. Only the pure, only the brave, only the just and true will reach their journey’s end. But all of you, every one, however lowly you feel yourselves to be, every man has within him that seed of greatness! All, all I say, can become true soldiers of Christ!’

  The shufflings had stopped. The monk held everyone in thrall. Only a woman could be heard, muttering discontentedly. Her neighbours frowned her to silence.

  ‘I heard someone say,’ the monk went on, ‘“The Saracen has never harmed me! Why should I take up the cross to fight him?” But he has harmed you, oh my brothers. Do you not feel Our Lady’s tears as the enemy tramples on the grave of her precious son? Do you not hear the True Cross, the very wood on which our dear Lord died, calling to you? That most precious of all the relics, which the devil Saladin has stolen and now holds in his sacrilegious hands! Do you not feel in your hearts the groans of Christ as he longs to be delivered?’

  An answering groan came from a hundred throats.

  ‘And what will you gain, I hear you ask, from making so great a sacrifice? You will not come home laden with riches or the spoils of war. You may come home with nothing more than honourable wounds. But I tell you this. You will have something far, far finer! For every man who takes up his cross to fight the infidel ensures the salvation of his soul! No hell, no purgatory for him. The pope himself has promised it. And those who die in battle will be holy martyrs, and their souls will fly straight to Paradise on the wings of angels. Their loved ones, too, will be spared the pains of purgatory.’

  Ma! Adam nearly called out loud. His sharp intake of breath made those beside him nudge him to be quiet.

  All around him, people were staring at the monk with shining eyes.

  ‘Will you hesitate, dear brothers? Will you turn aside from the call of Jesus? Or will you follow the path to glory? Why, why do you wait? Step forwards! Come to me! Take up the cross! Take up the cross!’

  Before he knew what he was doing, Adam had broken away from the wall and was stumbling towards the dais. He didn’t hear Jennet’s anxious voice call out, ‘Adam! No!’ Others were rushing forwards too: the carpenter’s boy, two of the grooms, dozens of men he didn’t recognize, even an old house servant hobbling up on arthritic knees.

  ‘The cross! Take up the cross!’ the monk was chanting.

  Adam was trembling with an excitement deeper than any he had ever known. He reached the dais and knelt down behind the others, but his head was reeling, and he was afraid he would faint. He leaned forward to take his weight on his arms. Beside him, someone was babbling uncontrollably.

  The faintness passed. Adam lifted his head. Lord Guy was standing to one side, beside Father Jerome, frowning at his ecstatic household through bloodshot eyes. Father Jerome himself watched eagerly, his hands gripping the high-carved back of one of the dais chairs. Lady Ysabel and her daughters had disappeared, but Lord Robert was talking to the King’s messenger, who was running a calculating eye over the numbers coming forward.

  At a signal, a page approached the monk. He carried a pile of crosses cut from cloth. The monk leaned forward to place one on each man’s shoulder. As his hand brushed Adam’s cheek, he felt a shudder go through him, as if he had been touched by fire. He picked the cross off his shoulder, and without knowing what he was doing held it to his lips.

  ‘You have chosen the true way!’ the monk called out, in a great voice that resonated beyond the hall. ‘Soldiers of Christ, follow your liege lord, your king and your Saviour. I proclaim that you are now Crusaders, and that from here on, while you bear with pride the cross of Christ, no man will dare to lay a finger on you, for Christ himself has written your name in his great book!’

  Adam breathed in gulps of fresh air as he tumbled down the rough stone steps of the keep into the bailey. He felt as if he was living in a dream.

  What have I done? he thought. He put up a hand to finger the cross which he had replaced on his shoulder. Jerusalem! I’ll go there! I really will!

  All around the bailey, knots of people were talking in enthralled huddles. Someone was sobbing. Adam began, with steps that felt light as air, to cross the rough ground towards the kennels.

  When do we go?
he was asking himself. Tomorrow?

  The thought of leaving the valley, for the first time in his life, was so amazing that he stopped, breathless, as if he’d been struck in the chest.

  He was about to walk on when someone grabbed his sleeve.

  ‘Adam!’ Jennet sounded as if she had been crying. ‘This can’t be happening! Half the men going away! How are we going to do without you all? Who’ll bring in the harvest? Who’ll fight if the castle’s attacked? For God’s sake, Adam!’

  He wanted to say, Yes, for the sake of God, that’s why we’re going, but he wasn’t used to making pious speeches.

  ‘It’s for Ma,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve got to save her from purgatory. She died unconfessed, Jenny.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ She sniffed ferociously, swallowing her tears. ‘Well, that’s reason enough, I give you that. I’d go for that, to save my ma.’ Her mood turned in an instant and she flung out her arms. ‘You’re so lucky!’ she cried passionately. ‘I wish I was a man! I’d give anything to come with you. Think of it, Adam, all them things you hear people go on about. You’ll see the sea! Sea monsters! Miracle things in foreign countries – people with two heads, and animals as tall as trees. And cities! I’m so jealous I could kill you.’

  He laughed delightedly. This was the Jennet he’d always known, his passionate, boisterous older sister.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said, catching her mood. ‘Come with us.’

  She hit him across the arm, nearly dislodging the cross on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be so mean. You know I can’t. Women don’t go on crusades. Not girls like me, anyway. Ladies, maybe.’

  ‘Is Lady Ysabel going then?’

  ‘I wish she was. I hate her, sour old cat. She’ll be keeping us all hopping here, making everyone miserable.’

  ‘No, but Jenny, you might be able to come,’ he said earnestly. ‘Who’s going to wash Lord Guy’s linen? They’ve got to have someone. None of the men will do it. It’s women’s work.’

  She stared at him. In the failing light he could see that her mouth was open and her eyes were dancing. Then her face closed again.