"A Widow's Crusade": Chapter 3
This is the third chapter of this novel, set in the start of the 13th century and describing a widow's voyage to the Holy Land on a personal crusade. I will be publishing a chapter a week until Christmas. I hope you enjoy it -- and keep in mind that the text of the story is copyrighted.
MediterraneanAugust/September 1212
The Templar Commander at Collioure tried hard to dissuade Blanche from her “foolish adventure,” and when he failed, he flatly refused to give her passage on one of his fighting galleys. Instead, he ordered Everard to proceed aboard a smaller, coastal craft, loudly washing his hands of Blanche’s safety as he did so. The little vessel had to follow the coast, making use of the land breezes as much as possible. Fortunately for the ladies, the Templar captain, an Apulian, proved considerably more gracious and garrulous than the Commander at Collioure, and his officers and crew took their cue from him. During the day, they rigged a canvas awning on the quarter deck so Lady Blanche and Claire could sit in the shade and fresh air rather than sweat with queasy stomachs in their narrow cabin. To keep busy, Blanche offered to mend the clothes of the crew, and later, under the critical eye of the sail-maker, she and Claire were taught the use of the palm and heavy needles so they could do tasks the sail maker entrusted to them. They were favored with fair weather at first, and made good progress upon glistening aquamarine waters around the tip of Corsica and down the Italian coast. After taking on water and supplies in Naples, the captain set a course direct for the straights of Messino, and the vessel was out of sight of land for the first time since the start of the voyage. At first, Blanche was uneasy about this, but the breeze was fresh and favorable enabling the lay-brothers who manned their oars to come on deck, and the ship herself seemed to rejoice in the wind. With a bone in her teeth, she danced over the waves, her bows sending showers of spray and spume into the air to catch the sunlight and shatter into a thousand prisms. The hiss and gurgle of the water rushing along the keel was more soothing than music when Blanche retired to her bunk that night. It seemed to record her progress toward Palestine.It was a sudden stillness that brought Blanche from her sleep. Registering that they were on an even keel and the sound of progress was absent, she concluded they were becalmed, and turned over to go back to sleep. Then she heard something that sounded like the bellow of a wounded bull, and her hair stood on end. She sat up in her bunk and looked about in inarticulate fear. Claire was sleeping soundly on the bunk below her. Leaning out into the narrow cabin she tried to look out the open port-hole, but she was confronted only by an impenetrable murk instead of the sharp line of the horizon. The unearthly bellow that had put her hair on end came again, but now she could guess its meaning. It was a fog-horn.Blanche's curiosity over-came her unease and she descended the ladder from her bunk, slipped her bare feet into a pair of soft leather shoes and wrapped herself in a light cloak. Then tip-toeing so as not to wake Claire, she let herself out of the cabin and climbed the ladder onto the quarter deck.The fog completely enveloped the ship and the surrounding sea. The long snout of the galley was lost in it, and even the tip of the main-mast was obscured. The damp made Blanche shiver, and she thought how odd that this very natural phenomenon should seem so ominous and pregnant with foreboding. Of course, if they had been nearer to land the danger of inadvertently going aground would have been real enough, but out in the open ocean there was surely no particular danger? Yet she was frightened. She cocked her head and listened. Surely they should be under oar with the wind so still? And where were the officers of the watch?She checked the helm and with relief made out the dark shapes of the two men at the heavy tiller. Then from behind her a muscular hand clasped her forearm in an almost brutal grip. She spun around and another hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the exclamation in her throat. She was looking up into the face to face of the Captain. He loomed over her, the hood of his mantel well forward, and he leaned toward her to speak so softly she read his lips more than heard his words. "Madame, go below! Show no light and make no sound. Your life depends upon it."Only then did he remove the hand over her mouth, and gesture with it toward the starboard rail. Blanche followed his pointing figure with her eyes, but she could see nothing. She looked back at him blankly, and he cupped his hand beside his ear to suggest she should listen. Holding her breath, she strained to hear something, anything ― and she did: the steady dipping of oars and the low beat of a drum. She looked up at the Captain both astonished and alarmed. It seemed incredible that there could be another ship so near in the midst of so much sea. But since there was, then surely they should make their presence known, howl upon the fog-horn and light every torch to prevent a collision? The Captain answered her unspoken question: he mouthed the words: "Arab-slavers."The chill that ran down her spine made her shudder visibly. She stared in sheer horror at the Captain. He jerked with his head in the direction of the cabin, and Blanche nodded. He released her arm, and she made her way rapidly and silently to the foot of the ladder. Here she paused in the tiny salon to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. What irony if she were to fall into Arab hands while trying to reach Abelard, who was finally free. What had the squire written? That he had been in Arab hands for 18 years? She couldn't grasp it. Eighteen years was a lifetime. She would not survive eighteen years. She probably wouldn't be given the chance. A woman her age was hardly something they would covet for their harems or even their brothels. They would be more likely to kill her at once. Or would they use her first? All the tales of rape and ravishment she had ever heard hung in the damp air under the rafters and blew cold on her spine from the ominous deck over-head. The chatelaine of Lastours had been turned over to the soldiery by Simon de Montfort because she did not share his faith. The Byzantine Emperor had reported that the Arabs had used the captive noblewomen "like animals" and even Bishops had been forced into sodomy. Blanch was sweating despite the chill, and her chest hurt from holding her breath so long. She let the air out slowly, softly. She would kill herself, she decided, and at once felt calmer. She made her way stiffly to the cabin, pushing the door open gently. Claire still slept soundly, her breath whistling through his half-opened mouth. Blanche went to her chest and tipped up the lid. She had an ivory-handled eating knife. She wasn’t sure it was sharp enough to cut her throat but she had nothing better. She slipped it under her pillow before climbing back up to her bunk.She was awakened by Claire, shaking her for breakfast, and sat up feeling unrefreshed and resentful of the disturbance. But she knew Claire was only doing her duty. Through the port-hole came a murky light and a glance confirmed that the fog was still heavy, though it appeared to be burning off.Everard appeared for breakfast in full armor ― only his helm and gauntlets set aside ― and with dark circles under his eyes. Half-way through breakfast the Captain joined them as well, his beard glistening with beads of fog. He reached hungrily for the bread and cheese. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you last night, ma Dame, but it was for your own safety.""I quite understand, Captain. Are we out of danger now?" Blanche countered.The captain shrugged. "We evaded no less than three of the bastards last night. It’s rare for them to venture this far north ― and in such strength. It’s as if they had word of some prize worth the risks. If I'd had a real fighting galley ― and not been entrusted with your safety, Madame ―" he bowed his head to Blanche before finishing "I would have taken one of them for sure."A shout from on deck prevented any further pursuit of the conversation. The Captain tore off the end of the loaf and stuffed it into his mouth as he clattered up the ladder to the deck. Everard excused himself hastily and followed the captain. Blanche looked at Claire, who stared back at her wide-eyed. "What should we do, Madame?""Pray, I expect ― I'll see if I can find out what has happened now." She slipped out from behind the table and climbed part way up the ladder to poke her head out in the hope of seeing what was going on without getting underfoot. It was evident that the fog was rapidly lifting and becoming patchy, while a chilly breeze was picking up. She heard the orders for the sail and the thud of feet on the deck as the sailors ran for the ratlines. The squeal of pulleys and the rattle of running rigging was answered by a dip and wallow as they changed course. Then the wind caught and the bows bit into the water. With a tremor they started to surge through the water. Blanche let out a sigh of relief and was about to return to her breakfast, when a shout from overhead stopped her. She looked up again, sensing the danger even before it was confirmed by the furious shouting of the Captain. Men rushed past her toward the stern rail. Beyond she saw close at hand what seemed to be a huge ship riding very high with two tiers of oars. The bow was a long, sharpened battering ram that smashed the waves apart as it cut past their stern. A cascade of unintelligible shouting erupted from the strange ship, as if they too had only just now sighted the Templar vessel.Blanch clung to the railing of the ladder waiting for the ship to veer toward them and ram them with its vicious bow. Along the stern rail, the Templars were lining up with cross-bows and other weapons. Everard had drawn his sword. But the Arab did not even miss a stroke as it swept on leaving the little coastal craft in its wake. They stood to their arms until the Arab was out of sight beyond a horizon that was increasingly distinct as the fog burned off in a hot sun. When at last the danger had truly passed, the Captain himself retired to get some rest, remarking under his breath as has he disappeared into his cabin. "Bloody bastards! They must have been on the scent of something easier to digest."
The days that followed were uneventful until, just west of Crete, they were caught in a vicious Southwest gale that tossed the galley about like a bit of driftwood. Everard tied both Blanche and Claire to their bunks to keep them from being hurt while the wind wailed and the ship groaned. Claire thought the end had come, but Blanche took reassurance from the calm of the Captain, whose voice she could hear over-head. He ordered a sea-anchor out and he kept his vessel bow-to-wind to ride out the storm.A day and a half later, the wind fell off to a manageable level and the rain ceased, so they raised the anchor and continued the voyage while taking stock of the damage. Two men had broken limbs and the rest suffered from less serious bruises and abrasions. The live-stock pen had been washed overboard, and the railing was torn away just aft of the foremast, apparently shattered when the pen was washed away. There were various minor leaks, snarls of running rigging left trailing by the washed away rail, and two of the water barrels were stove in. The Captain nodded, content with the performance of his little vessel, and set course for Crete to replace the lost food and water. The call that land had been sighted brought Blanche on deck at once. The sun was low in the sky behind them, turning golden with the dusk already. They had a good following wind still, the remnants of the storm, and the waves seemed to push them toward their destination as they rushed passed to break upon the island's shore.It was Everard who saw it first. The captain was intent on watching the sails as he swung closer to the wind and started to quarter the swells as he ran north-east. But Everard, like Blanche, was entranced by the landfall, and his eyes were still sharp. "What is all that rubbish at the foot of the cliffs there?" He asked as much to himself as to her. Then he turned and caught the attention of the chief mate. "Brother Guido, look there. At the base of the cliff---""Santa Maria! Capitano!"The Captain turned and his scowl was met with a flood of Italian too fast for either Everard or Blanche to understand. Scowling more darkly still, he stepped to the rail squinting, and then let out a colorful oath. "It is a wreck, isn't it?" Everard inquired.The captain nodded curtly and ordered the helmsman to run down wind again, closer to shore. The word spread rapidly, and the off watch and oarsmen came to line the railing. The captain, however, kept his eyes upon the waves and the wind. Look-outs were sent into the bows and the mizzen was handed to decrease their speed. Slowly they neared the shore. There could be no doubt now. A large ship lay cast up upon the narrow beach along the base of a cliff. One mast lay bent back over the stern, dangling rags of sails over the water, while the mainmast stuck up straight as a tree ― from a deck that sank into the sand at a forty-five degree angle. The stern of the ship still extended out into the water and waves broke over it. As they came still nearer, they could hear the creak and groan of the ship being rammed against the merciless shore with each wave. "She'll break up completely before another day is past." Someone remarked."What is she?" Everard inquired anxiously."Oh, she's Arab." The Mate remarked, apparently surprised that Everard had not recognized this. "Much like that big slaver we saw so uncomfortably close off Sicily. The same double tier of oars, see!" He pointed.Blanche and Everard looked back toward the wreck to note what the sailors had noted at once, while the Captain gave the order to turn up the coast again, anxious to avoid a similar fate. Blanche was about to turn away when something white in the water caught her eye, and she cried out before she could stop herself. Floating very near the ship was a corpse ― face down, a naked back, and long golden hair floating on the surface. She stepped back from the rail feeling ill, but around her the others moved closer pointing, exclaiming. Only gradually did she begin to understand their excitement: the corpse was white. Apparently it hadn't been an Arab after all.After that, things happened too fast for Blanche. They changed coarse yet again, ran down to shore then doubled back upon their previous coarse and then swung sharply up into the wind. Three men jumped over-board and the oars were run-out to hold the vessel in place. As they hauled the corpse aboard, Blanche went below deck and sat numbly at the bench behind the table. She had seen corpses before. She had buried her father and her husband. She had buried a daughter. But the storm had barely receded. They were still riding the swells whipped up by the angry winds. She was acutely aware that that corpse could so easily have been her….Overhead the commotion had not died down. If anything they were shouting more loudly than ever. The foot-falls were heavy and rapid. With a dull scraping they seemed to drag something ― another body ― over her very head. It was Claire's high-pitched voice that startled her. "Madame! Madame! They're children! Little, Christian children!" Claire was shouting down the ladder, half hysterical, and Blanche felt compelled to respond. "Don't shout so, Claire. I'm coming." Reluctantly but steadily she ascended to the deck and was confronted by the repulsive sight of no less than four corpses lined up limply -- all of them white and blue, the water oozing from their mouths, their clothing clinging to their fragile, juvenile bodies, their hair a tangled mess about their heads. And Claire was right. They were white, wearing western clothes and not one of them looked to be more than 14. The smallest couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 -- and her hands were tied.Blanche sank down on her knees beside the little girl in disbelief. With her hands tied she hadn't stood a chance! She looked quickly to the others. All of them had bound wrists. Only then did it finally dawn on her that it had indeed been an Arab ship, and the whites aboard it were all slaves. But how did little children fall into the hands of slavers? She looked at the little girl with her plump white limbs and her bare feet. She wore a simple linen dress and a white apron, the clothes of a craftsman or merchant's child. Everard sank down on his heels beside her. "Madame, we are going to put ashore and see if there are any survivors."Blanche looked up alarmed. Surely it was madness to take their own vessel any closer to the treacherous shore? Everard seemed to read her thoughts. "We've put out the sea anchor and the oarsmen can keep us off the rocks. We are going ashore in the long boat." He indicated the little row-boat that was lashed keel up at the break of the poop. Sailors were already releasing the little craft from its restraints and dragging it aft. "As the only knight aboard, I will go with them, Madame. Captain Brother Davido will remain aboard and Sergeant Lestrelle will see you safely to Galilee, if something should happen to me."Blanche stood. She felt as if the blood from her head remained in her feet. Strange how his words frightened her, she thought, noting that she had grown fond of him. Nor could she escape the sense that their fate was bound together for this journey. But Everard had already turned away, was buckling his sword more snugly, and pulling the chain mail coif up over his head, binding it tight with the leather cord at laced through the chain mail at the crown of his head.The longboat was being lowered off the stern. The swells seemed large even for their ship, let alone the little open boat. It bounced wildly, while one after another of the shore-party descended a rope-ladder into it. Everard was accompanied by the Mate, and six other men wearing hauberks and the black surcoats of Templar sergeants. They all had their coifs over their heads and were armed with swords and daggers and two cross-bows.Blanche watched anxiously from the railing as two lay-brothers took the oars and manoeuvred the boat deftly, making for a place on the shore a good hundred yards north of the wreck, where rocks in the water served as a natural break-water and the shore itself was less troubled. They carried the boat above the reach of the waves, and one of the lay brothers remained with it while the others made their way toward the wreck. The Captain came and stood beside Blanche. The landing party moved as a body along the edge of the shore until they neared the wreck. Then they divided into two groups and scrambled up the rocks before climbing back down toward the wreck. A shout reached the galley across the water. They saw something flash and heard a scream. Then they lost sight of the men. Blanche looked anxiously at the Captain."They must have encountered some of the crew and dispatched them." He concluded, without entertaining the possibility that one of his own men might have been killed.They waited what seemed like an interminable time. The Captain started to glance nervously toward the setting sun, obviously anxious to get to a more hospitable anchorage before dark. Blanche could not take her eyes off the wreck and the way the waves were crashing over the stern and hammering it against the rocks. Shattered beams and planks ― and corpses ― were swept away from the wreck with each retreating wave. The corpses were countless. They bobbed among the rubbish and drifted on the currents as far as the eye could see. Blanche tried not to look at them, but she could not tear herself away from the railing either. She strained to see some sign of the landing party.The Captain started muttering under his breath in an incomprehensible mixture of Norman-Italian, and he scowled more darkly than ever as he checked the wind. But at last there was movement on the wreck again. Soon they could make out men crawling up the face of the rocks above it. They were carrying something, or rather someone, and there were now 9 of them. Painfully slowly the landing party worked its way back to the longboat, lowered one person into the bottom and then let the other climb aboard, before they carried the boat down to the water's edge and pushed it out into the waves. The oarsmen clambered aboard and started working to keep the boat off the rocks while the fighting men struggled to get aboard the now floating boat. The entire operation looked extremely hazardous to Blanche, but the last man was finally dragged aboard by his fellows and the boat set coarse for the galley.The Captain had meanwhile weighed anchor and set sail, using only his oars to keep the galley head to wind until the landing party and the two survivors of the wreck came up the waiting ladder. No time was wasted bringing the boat aboard, however. Instead it was made fast and towed behind as the vessel started tacking away from the coast using both sail and oars.The landing party and the two survivors dropped onto the quarter deck, soaked through with sea-water. The sail maker brought blankets up on deck to wrap around the drenched men, and the cook passed around a flask of wine, while the landing party reported to their shipmates excitedly. The Mate described in technical detail Blanche could not understand the damage the great Arab galley had suffered, the smashed in bows, the broken back, the toppled masts. Another of the party related how Sir Everard had spotted the three Arabs just in time; two were severely injured and unable to rise, but the third had tried to defend himself. In evident awe, he told how Sir Everard had decapitated him with a single stroke. Blanche glanced at the young knight. He was staring at the deck, pale and shivering, with water oozing up out of his chain mail and dripping from his face, hair and beard. He looked far too young and frail to have just decapitated someone, Blanche thought. "Would that there had been more of them!" Added one of the Templar lay-brothers, who had manned the oars of the longboat. "They had left all their galley slaves chained at their benches. The ship was under sail when she went aground, but the slaves were still chained at their benches!""They always are." The Mate retorted. "There is only room in the forecastle for the off-watch. So the duty-watch is chained to their benches whether they row or not - and the off-watch is chained to their bunks."The sympathy Blanche had been feeling for the Arab crew evaporated."They had not even unlocked the cages holding their captives." Everard said softly, speaking for the first time since his return. Blanche looked over at him. Still he would not look at her. "They were crowded into boxes no higher than 4 feet -- 10 or 15 children to a box -- all with their hands bound." Something about the still, emotionless way Everard spoke made everyone go still.Into the silence, the youth they had rescued spoke. "They hadn't fed us for two days either," he said. He was a beardless boy of 13 or 14, still round-faced and stub-nosed for all that his body was long and his shoulders were starting to fill out. He had ugly bruises all along the side of his face and neck and down across his shoulder and upper arm. Now, wiping his, long wet hair out of his face, he looked at the people clustered around him, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He looked from the sails, bloated now with wind so the splayed, red, Templar cross was clear to see, then looked more intently at Sir Everard’s surcoat and that of the sergeants, and finally to Lady Blanche and Claire. “Aren’t you Templars?” He asked.“Yes, of course, and this is a Templar ship.” One of the sergeants answered, adding, “Lady Blanche is our passenger.”“Where are you bound?” The boy asked anxiously.“Acre,” someone answered.At once the youth’s eyes lit up. “Acre? In the Holy Land? You’re bound for the Holy Land?”As the men nodded, Blanche was startled by the thin, breathy voice of a girl. Everyone had been so focused on the excited men and youth that no one had noticed the girl they had rescued had come to her senses. Blanche at once sank down on her heels beside the girl. She looked about the same age as the rescued youth, but fairer and frailer. Her skirts had been cut off raggedly above her knees and her naked legs were gashed and cut. Blanche removed her cloak to cover her, but realizing she was starting to tremble from cold and shock, Blanche pulled the girl into her lap and rubbed her arms."We had to cut off her skirt." Everard apologized, his voice soft and flat. "It had caught on something and we were running out of time. The waves were washing over her head as it was. We had to cut off her skirt and drag her out of the hole we smashed in the top of the cage or she would have drowned."Blanche looked up at the distressed young knight standing over her. "God be praised you could save her at all!" She reminded him. "Her legs will heel and I have plenty of spare gowns." She looked back to the girl, and brushed her tangled brown hair out of her face with a trembling hand, as she murmured. “Hush, child,” she murmured. “You’re safe now.”Everard went down on his heels beside her, and he lowered his voice for her alone. "She is from the Languedoc, Madame.” Then he repeated in his own tongue Blanche’s message.The girl turned her face into Blanche’s breast and clung to her wordlessly. “She kept begging me to save her little brother,” Everard confessed to Blanche, “but there was no more time. The wreck was breaking up more and more."“You did what you could, Sir,” Blanche assured him. “You are not to blame for her being locked in cage, or for the wreck. But how was she captured? How did so manyChristian children come into the hands of the Arab slavers? Where are their parents?” Blanche was referring to parents of all the children, but Everard answered only for the girl she held in her arms."Her mother sent her and her brother on crusade to wash away the sin of their father's heresy. Her mother said if they could pray for his soul in Jerusalemthat he might be saved despite his wickedness.""Her mother will have much to answer for on Judgement Day." Blanche concluded angrily. How could a mother send two half-grown children on such a dangerous journey!But Everard countered sharply, "Don't you think rather her mother was trying to save her from ending like the other orphaned girls of my homeland? As a whore to de Montfort’s marauders!" Blanche caught her breath ― as much at Everard’s bitterness as at his words, but their own exchange was drowned out by the excited voice of the rescued youth, who was exclaiming, “I’m a crusader too! We all were. We were going to free Jerusalem! Stephan saw it in a dream and the King blessed us! Stephan said we would not be opposed because we were free of sin." Bedraggled and ragged as he was, the sense of mission and his faith still echoed in his voice. "Stephan said -- Everywhere they -- In Marseilles...." He faltered as the men around him exchanged outraged exclamations.The Mate urged him to continue."In Marseilles, the French merchants demanded the usual fare for pilgrims." The boy sounded astonished, although it sounded perfectly reasonable to Blanche. "Stephan was furious and cursed them for their greed. ‘We are God's Children,’ he told them, ‘and our Father has called us home to Jerusalem. Did St. Christopher ask the Christ-Child to pay for his crossing?’ But they still refused. Fortunately, there were some Pisan captains in the harbour, who agreed to give us passage for free."The explosion of curses that erupted at this remark bewildered the boy. "That's why the slavers were so far north." "No wonder they had no interest in us." "How many were you in Marseilles?" The Mate asked."Oh, we were five thousand or even more," the youth said proudly“Christ weeps! The bastards must have made a fortune!""Who?""The Pisans you fool! Surely you don’t think the Pisans gave you free passage out of piety?! Or that it was pure chance that you were boarded by slavers? Did the Pisan crew die to the last man defending you?" The question was put entirely sarcastically, but the boy answered earnestly, "We didn't see what happened. We were below deck, and then suddenly there were Arabs with huge, curving swords and niggers that bound our hands and tied us together." "The trade of a lifetime!" The Mate exclaimed bitterly. "5000 slaves picked up for free ― not even the expense and risks of going to Prussiato buy them from the heathens! Those Pisan captains will build palazzios from this day's work!""You can't mean Christians sold these Christian children ― crusading Children ― to the Saracen?" Claire was so horrified that her voice was higher than usual and it pierced through the murmur of male conversation."Yes, Claire, that's exactly what he means ― it is exactly what happened." Blanche answered wearily. She could almost envy Claire her naive refusal to believe there was so much evil among them or the boy's apparent simplicity as he scratched his head trying to understand what the Templars had just told him. But the girl in her arms was shivering and her teeth were chattering. "Please, will someone help me get this child below?" She addressed the men standing about her and at once a half-dozen willing hands offered to carry the girl for her. In her cabin, Claire insisted that they lay the girl in her own bunk, and as soon as the men had withdrawn, Blanche and Claire stripped the girl out of her wet clothes, dressed her in the warmest of Blanche’s nightgowns, and settled her into the bunk tucked in with blankets. “Sit with her a moment,” Blanche urged her waiting woman, “I’m just going to see if Sir Everard knows her name.”But when she returned with the information that the girl called herself Simone, she found Claire sitting on the floor beside the bunk sobbing her heart out.“What’s happened!” Blanche asked in horror. “Has she died?” But even as she asked, she heard the gentle sound of the girl breathing in a deep sleep. Blanche eased herself on the floor beside Claire and asked again, more gently this time. “What is, Claire? What’s the matter?”“All those children, Madame,” she gasped out between sobs. “They were the same children we saw in Chauvigny. The children who sang the “Song of Palestine” in the street and made me want to go on crusade! Oh, Madame! I wanted to join them then and there! Don’t you remember? I wanted to join them, but then you told me you were going to sail in search of Sir Abelard, so I ― I decided to go with you instead. But they were crusaders! And look what happened to them! All of them! Betrayed by Christians! How could He let this happen, Madame! And why?”Blanche had no answer, so she pulled her old serving woman into her arms just as she had the rescued child. It was only after she had been sitting like that for several minutes that she realized the Song of Palestine was running through her head and she couldn’t stop it. It was still luring her forward, toward the Holy Land.
MediterraneanAugust/September 1212
The Templar Commander at Collioure tried hard to dissuade Blanche from her “foolish adventure,” and when he failed, he flatly refused to give her passage on one of his fighting galleys. Instead, he ordered Everard to proceed aboard a smaller, coastal craft, loudly washing his hands of Blanche’s safety as he did so. The little vessel had to follow the coast, making use of the land breezes as much as possible. Fortunately for the ladies, the Templar captain, an Apulian, proved considerably more gracious and garrulous than the Commander at Collioure, and his officers and crew took their cue from him. During the day, they rigged a canvas awning on the quarter deck so Lady Blanche and Claire could sit in the shade and fresh air rather than sweat with queasy stomachs in their narrow cabin. To keep busy, Blanche offered to mend the clothes of the crew, and later, under the critical eye of the sail-maker, she and Claire were taught the use of the palm and heavy needles so they could do tasks the sail maker entrusted to them. They were favored with fair weather at first, and made good progress upon glistening aquamarine waters around the tip of Corsica and down the Italian coast. After taking on water and supplies in Naples, the captain set a course direct for the straights of Messino, and the vessel was out of sight of land for the first time since the start of the voyage. At first, Blanche was uneasy about this, but the breeze was fresh and favorable enabling the lay-brothers who manned their oars to come on deck, and the ship herself seemed to rejoice in the wind. With a bone in her teeth, she danced over the waves, her bows sending showers of spray and spume into the air to catch the sunlight and shatter into a thousand prisms. The hiss and gurgle of the water rushing along the keel was more soothing than music when Blanche retired to her bunk that night. It seemed to record her progress toward Palestine.It was a sudden stillness that brought Blanche from her sleep. Registering that they were on an even keel and the sound of progress was absent, she concluded they were becalmed, and turned over to go back to sleep. Then she heard something that sounded like the bellow of a wounded bull, and her hair stood on end. She sat up in her bunk and looked about in inarticulate fear. Claire was sleeping soundly on the bunk below her. Leaning out into the narrow cabin she tried to look out the open port-hole, but she was confronted only by an impenetrable murk instead of the sharp line of the horizon. The unearthly bellow that had put her hair on end came again, but now she could guess its meaning. It was a fog-horn.Blanche's curiosity over-came her unease and she descended the ladder from her bunk, slipped her bare feet into a pair of soft leather shoes and wrapped herself in a light cloak. Then tip-toeing so as not to wake Claire, she let herself out of the cabin and climbed the ladder onto the quarter deck.The fog completely enveloped the ship and the surrounding sea. The long snout of the galley was lost in it, and even the tip of the main-mast was obscured. The damp made Blanche shiver, and she thought how odd that this very natural phenomenon should seem so ominous and pregnant with foreboding. Of course, if they had been nearer to land the danger of inadvertently going aground would have been real enough, but out in the open ocean there was surely no particular danger? Yet she was frightened. She cocked her head and listened. Surely they should be under oar with the wind so still? And where were the officers of the watch?She checked the helm and with relief made out the dark shapes of the two men at the heavy tiller. Then from behind her a muscular hand clasped her forearm in an almost brutal grip. She spun around and another hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the exclamation in her throat. She was looking up into the face to face of the Captain. He loomed over her, the hood of his mantel well forward, and he leaned toward her to speak so softly she read his lips more than heard his words. "Madame, go below! Show no light and make no sound. Your life depends upon it."Only then did he remove the hand over her mouth, and gesture with it toward the starboard rail. Blanche followed his pointing figure with her eyes, but she could see nothing. She looked back at him blankly, and he cupped his hand beside his ear to suggest she should listen. Holding her breath, she strained to hear something, anything ― and she did: the steady dipping of oars and the low beat of a drum. She looked up at the Captain both astonished and alarmed. It seemed incredible that there could be another ship so near in the midst of so much sea. But since there was, then surely they should make their presence known, howl upon the fog-horn and light every torch to prevent a collision? The Captain answered her unspoken question: he mouthed the words: "Arab-slavers."The chill that ran down her spine made her shudder visibly. She stared in sheer horror at the Captain. He jerked with his head in the direction of the cabin, and Blanche nodded. He released her arm, and she made her way rapidly and silently to the foot of the ladder. Here she paused in the tiny salon to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. What irony if she were to fall into Arab hands while trying to reach Abelard, who was finally free. What had the squire written? That he had been in Arab hands for 18 years? She couldn't grasp it. Eighteen years was a lifetime. She would not survive eighteen years. She probably wouldn't be given the chance. A woman her age was hardly something they would covet for their harems or even their brothels. They would be more likely to kill her at once. Or would they use her first? All the tales of rape and ravishment she had ever heard hung in the damp air under the rafters and blew cold on her spine from the ominous deck over-head. The chatelaine of Lastours had been turned over to the soldiery by Simon de Montfort because she did not share his faith. The Byzantine Emperor had reported that the Arabs had used the captive noblewomen "like animals" and even Bishops had been forced into sodomy. Blanch was sweating despite the chill, and her chest hurt from holding her breath so long. She let the air out slowly, softly. She would kill herself, she decided, and at once felt calmer. She made her way stiffly to the cabin, pushing the door open gently. Claire still slept soundly, her breath whistling through his half-opened mouth. Blanche went to her chest and tipped up the lid. She had an ivory-handled eating knife. She wasn’t sure it was sharp enough to cut her throat but she had nothing better. She slipped it under her pillow before climbing back up to her bunk.She was awakened by Claire, shaking her for breakfast, and sat up feeling unrefreshed and resentful of the disturbance. But she knew Claire was only doing her duty. Through the port-hole came a murky light and a glance confirmed that the fog was still heavy, though it appeared to be burning off.Everard appeared for breakfast in full armor ― only his helm and gauntlets set aside ― and with dark circles under his eyes. Half-way through breakfast the Captain joined them as well, his beard glistening with beads of fog. He reached hungrily for the bread and cheese. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you last night, ma Dame, but it was for your own safety.""I quite understand, Captain. Are we out of danger now?" Blanche countered.The captain shrugged. "We evaded no less than three of the bastards last night. It’s rare for them to venture this far north ― and in such strength. It’s as if they had word of some prize worth the risks. If I'd had a real fighting galley ― and not been entrusted with your safety, Madame ―" he bowed his head to Blanche before finishing "I would have taken one of them for sure."A shout from on deck prevented any further pursuit of the conversation. The Captain tore off the end of the loaf and stuffed it into his mouth as he clattered up the ladder to the deck. Everard excused himself hastily and followed the captain. Blanche looked at Claire, who stared back at her wide-eyed. "What should we do, Madame?""Pray, I expect ― I'll see if I can find out what has happened now." She slipped out from behind the table and climbed part way up the ladder to poke her head out in the hope of seeing what was going on without getting underfoot. It was evident that the fog was rapidly lifting and becoming patchy, while a chilly breeze was picking up. She heard the orders for the sail and the thud of feet on the deck as the sailors ran for the ratlines. The squeal of pulleys and the rattle of running rigging was answered by a dip and wallow as they changed course. Then the wind caught and the bows bit into the water. With a tremor they started to surge through the water. Blanche let out a sigh of relief and was about to return to her breakfast, when a shout from overhead stopped her. She looked up again, sensing the danger even before it was confirmed by the furious shouting of the Captain. Men rushed past her toward the stern rail. Beyond she saw close at hand what seemed to be a huge ship riding very high with two tiers of oars. The bow was a long, sharpened battering ram that smashed the waves apart as it cut past their stern. A cascade of unintelligible shouting erupted from the strange ship, as if they too had only just now sighted the Templar vessel.Blanch clung to the railing of the ladder waiting for the ship to veer toward them and ram them with its vicious bow. Along the stern rail, the Templars were lining up with cross-bows and other weapons. Everard had drawn his sword. But the Arab did not even miss a stroke as it swept on leaving the little coastal craft in its wake. They stood to their arms until the Arab was out of sight beyond a horizon that was increasingly distinct as the fog burned off in a hot sun. When at last the danger had truly passed, the Captain himself retired to get some rest, remarking under his breath as has he disappeared into his cabin. "Bloody bastards! They must have been on the scent of something easier to digest."
The days that followed were uneventful until, just west of Crete, they were caught in a vicious Southwest gale that tossed the galley about like a bit of driftwood. Everard tied both Blanche and Claire to their bunks to keep them from being hurt while the wind wailed and the ship groaned. Claire thought the end had come, but Blanche took reassurance from the calm of the Captain, whose voice she could hear over-head. He ordered a sea-anchor out and he kept his vessel bow-to-wind to ride out the storm.A day and a half later, the wind fell off to a manageable level and the rain ceased, so they raised the anchor and continued the voyage while taking stock of the damage. Two men had broken limbs and the rest suffered from less serious bruises and abrasions. The live-stock pen had been washed overboard, and the railing was torn away just aft of the foremast, apparently shattered when the pen was washed away. There were various minor leaks, snarls of running rigging left trailing by the washed away rail, and two of the water barrels were stove in. The Captain nodded, content with the performance of his little vessel, and set course for Crete to replace the lost food and water. The call that land had been sighted brought Blanche on deck at once. The sun was low in the sky behind them, turning golden with the dusk already. They had a good following wind still, the remnants of the storm, and the waves seemed to push them toward their destination as they rushed passed to break upon the island's shore.It was Everard who saw it first. The captain was intent on watching the sails as he swung closer to the wind and started to quarter the swells as he ran north-east. But Everard, like Blanche, was entranced by the landfall, and his eyes were still sharp. "What is all that rubbish at the foot of the cliffs there?" He asked as much to himself as to her. Then he turned and caught the attention of the chief mate. "Brother Guido, look there. At the base of the cliff---""Santa Maria! Capitano!"The Captain turned and his scowl was met with a flood of Italian too fast for either Everard or Blanche to understand. Scowling more darkly still, he stepped to the rail squinting, and then let out a colorful oath. "It is a wreck, isn't it?" Everard inquired.The captain nodded curtly and ordered the helmsman to run down wind again, closer to shore. The word spread rapidly, and the off watch and oarsmen came to line the railing. The captain, however, kept his eyes upon the waves and the wind. Look-outs were sent into the bows and the mizzen was handed to decrease their speed. Slowly they neared the shore. There could be no doubt now. A large ship lay cast up upon the narrow beach along the base of a cliff. One mast lay bent back over the stern, dangling rags of sails over the water, while the mainmast stuck up straight as a tree ― from a deck that sank into the sand at a forty-five degree angle. The stern of the ship still extended out into the water and waves broke over it. As they came still nearer, they could hear the creak and groan of the ship being rammed against the merciless shore with each wave. "She'll break up completely before another day is past." Someone remarked."What is she?" Everard inquired anxiously."Oh, she's Arab." The Mate remarked, apparently surprised that Everard had not recognized this. "Much like that big slaver we saw so uncomfortably close off Sicily. The same double tier of oars, see!" He pointed.Blanche and Everard looked back toward the wreck to note what the sailors had noted at once, while the Captain gave the order to turn up the coast again, anxious to avoid a similar fate. Blanche was about to turn away when something white in the water caught her eye, and she cried out before she could stop herself. Floating very near the ship was a corpse ― face down, a naked back, and long golden hair floating on the surface. She stepped back from the rail feeling ill, but around her the others moved closer pointing, exclaiming. Only gradually did she begin to understand their excitement: the corpse was white. Apparently it hadn't been an Arab after all.After that, things happened too fast for Blanche. They changed coarse yet again, ran down to shore then doubled back upon their previous coarse and then swung sharply up into the wind. Three men jumped over-board and the oars were run-out to hold the vessel in place. As they hauled the corpse aboard, Blanche went below deck and sat numbly at the bench behind the table. She had seen corpses before. She had buried her father and her husband. She had buried a daughter. But the storm had barely receded. They were still riding the swells whipped up by the angry winds. She was acutely aware that that corpse could so easily have been her….Overhead the commotion had not died down. If anything they were shouting more loudly than ever. The foot-falls were heavy and rapid. With a dull scraping they seemed to drag something ― another body ― over her very head. It was Claire's high-pitched voice that startled her. "Madame! Madame! They're children! Little, Christian children!" Claire was shouting down the ladder, half hysterical, and Blanche felt compelled to respond. "Don't shout so, Claire. I'm coming." Reluctantly but steadily she ascended to the deck and was confronted by the repulsive sight of no less than four corpses lined up limply -- all of them white and blue, the water oozing from their mouths, their clothing clinging to their fragile, juvenile bodies, their hair a tangled mess about their heads. And Claire was right. They were white, wearing western clothes and not one of them looked to be more than 14. The smallest couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 -- and her hands were tied.Blanche sank down on her knees beside the little girl in disbelief. With her hands tied she hadn't stood a chance! She looked quickly to the others. All of them had bound wrists. Only then did it finally dawn on her that it had indeed been an Arab ship, and the whites aboard it were all slaves. But how did little children fall into the hands of slavers? She looked at the little girl with her plump white limbs and her bare feet. She wore a simple linen dress and a white apron, the clothes of a craftsman or merchant's child. Everard sank down on his heels beside her. "Madame, we are going to put ashore and see if there are any survivors."Blanche looked up alarmed. Surely it was madness to take their own vessel any closer to the treacherous shore? Everard seemed to read her thoughts. "We've put out the sea anchor and the oarsmen can keep us off the rocks. We are going ashore in the long boat." He indicated the little row-boat that was lashed keel up at the break of the poop. Sailors were already releasing the little craft from its restraints and dragging it aft. "As the only knight aboard, I will go with them, Madame. Captain Brother Davido will remain aboard and Sergeant Lestrelle will see you safely to Galilee, if something should happen to me."Blanche stood. She felt as if the blood from her head remained in her feet. Strange how his words frightened her, she thought, noting that she had grown fond of him. Nor could she escape the sense that their fate was bound together for this journey. But Everard had already turned away, was buckling his sword more snugly, and pulling the chain mail coif up over his head, binding it tight with the leather cord at laced through the chain mail at the crown of his head.The longboat was being lowered off the stern. The swells seemed large even for their ship, let alone the little open boat. It bounced wildly, while one after another of the shore-party descended a rope-ladder into it. Everard was accompanied by the Mate, and six other men wearing hauberks and the black surcoats of Templar sergeants. They all had their coifs over their heads and were armed with swords and daggers and two cross-bows.Blanche watched anxiously from the railing as two lay-brothers took the oars and manoeuvred the boat deftly, making for a place on the shore a good hundred yards north of the wreck, where rocks in the water served as a natural break-water and the shore itself was less troubled. They carried the boat above the reach of the waves, and one of the lay brothers remained with it while the others made their way toward the wreck. The Captain came and stood beside Blanche. The landing party moved as a body along the edge of the shore until they neared the wreck. Then they divided into two groups and scrambled up the rocks before climbing back down toward the wreck. A shout reached the galley across the water. They saw something flash and heard a scream. Then they lost sight of the men. Blanche looked anxiously at the Captain."They must have encountered some of the crew and dispatched them." He concluded, without entertaining the possibility that one of his own men might have been killed.They waited what seemed like an interminable time. The Captain started to glance nervously toward the setting sun, obviously anxious to get to a more hospitable anchorage before dark. Blanche could not take her eyes off the wreck and the way the waves were crashing over the stern and hammering it against the rocks. Shattered beams and planks ― and corpses ― were swept away from the wreck with each retreating wave. The corpses were countless. They bobbed among the rubbish and drifted on the currents as far as the eye could see. Blanche tried not to look at them, but she could not tear herself away from the railing either. She strained to see some sign of the landing party.The Captain started muttering under his breath in an incomprehensible mixture of Norman-Italian, and he scowled more darkly than ever as he checked the wind. But at last there was movement on the wreck again. Soon they could make out men crawling up the face of the rocks above it. They were carrying something, or rather someone, and there were now 9 of them. Painfully slowly the landing party worked its way back to the longboat, lowered one person into the bottom and then let the other climb aboard, before they carried the boat down to the water's edge and pushed it out into the waves. The oarsmen clambered aboard and started working to keep the boat off the rocks while the fighting men struggled to get aboard the now floating boat. The entire operation looked extremely hazardous to Blanche, but the last man was finally dragged aboard by his fellows and the boat set coarse for the galley.The Captain had meanwhile weighed anchor and set sail, using only his oars to keep the galley head to wind until the landing party and the two survivors of the wreck came up the waiting ladder. No time was wasted bringing the boat aboard, however. Instead it was made fast and towed behind as the vessel started tacking away from the coast using both sail and oars.The landing party and the two survivors dropped onto the quarter deck, soaked through with sea-water. The sail maker brought blankets up on deck to wrap around the drenched men, and the cook passed around a flask of wine, while the landing party reported to their shipmates excitedly. The Mate described in technical detail Blanche could not understand the damage the great Arab galley had suffered, the smashed in bows, the broken back, the toppled masts. Another of the party related how Sir Everard had spotted the three Arabs just in time; two were severely injured and unable to rise, but the third had tried to defend himself. In evident awe, he told how Sir Everard had decapitated him with a single stroke. Blanche glanced at the young knight. He was staring at the deck, pale and shivering, with water oozing up out of his chain mail and dripping from his face, hair and beard. He looked far too young and frail to have just decapitated someone, Blanche thought. "Would that there had been more of them!" Added one of the Templar lay-brothers, who had manned the oars of the longboat. "They had left all their galley slaves chained at their benches. The ship was under sail when she went aground, but the slaves were still chained at their benches!""They always are." The Mate retorted. "There is only room in the forecastle for the off-watch. So the duty-watch is chained to their benches whether they row or not - and the off-watch is chained to their bunks."The sympathy Blanche had been feeling for the Arab crew evaporated."They had not even unlocked the cages holding their captives." Everard said softly, speaking for the first time since his return. Blanche looked over at him. Still he would not look at her. "They were crowded into boxes no higher than 4 feet -- 10 or 15 children to a box -- all with their hands bound." Something about the still, emotionless way Everard spoke made everyone go still.Into the silence, the youth they had rescued spoke. "They hadn't fed us for two days either," he said. He was a beardless boy of 13 or 14, still round-faced and stub-nosed for all that his body was long and his shoulders were starting to fill out. He had ugly bruises all along the side of his face and neck and down across his shoulder and upper arm. Now, wiping his, long wet hair out of his face, he looked at the people clustered around him, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He looked from the sails, bloated now with wind so the splayed, red, Templar cross was clear to see, then looked more intently at Sir Everard’s surcoat and that of the sergeants, and finally to Lady Blanche and Claire. “Aren’t you Templars?” He asked.“Yes, of course, and this is a Templar ship.” One of the sergeants answered, adding, “Lady Blanche is our passenger.”“Where are you bound?” The boy asked anxiously.“Acre,” someone answered.At once the youth’s eyes lit up. “Acre? In the Holy Land? You’re bound for the Holy Land?”As the men nodded, Blanche was startled by the thin, breathy voice of a girl. Everyone had been so focused on the excited men and youth that no one had noticed the girl they had rescued had come to her senses. Blanche at once sank down on her heels beside the girl. She looked about the same age as the rescued youth, but fairer and frailer. Her skirts had been cut off raggedly above her knees and her naked legs were gashed and cut. Blanche removed her cloak to cover her, but realizing she was starting to tremble from cold and shock, Blanche pulled the girl into her lap and rubbed her arms."We had to cut off her skirt." Everard apologized, his voice soft and flat. "It had caught on something and we were running out of time. The waves were washing over her head as it was. We had to cut off her skirt and drag her out of the hole we smashed in the top of the cage or she would have drowned."Blanche looked up at the distressed young knight standing over her. "God be praised you could save her at all!" She reminded him. "Her legs will heel and I have plenty of spare gowns." She looked back to the girl, and brushed her tangled brown hair out of her face with a trembling hand, as she murmured. “Hush, child,” she murmured. “You’re safe now.”Everard went down on his heels beside her, and he lowered his voice for her alone. "She is from the Languedoc, Madame.” Then he repeated in his own tongue Blanche’s message.The girl turned her face into Blanche’s breast and clung to her wordlessly. “She kept begging me to save her little brother,” Everard confessed to Blanche, “but there was no more time. The wreck was breaking up more and more."“You did what you could, Sir,” Blanche assured him. “You are not to blame for her being locked in cage, or for the wreck. But how was she captured? How did so manyChristian children come into the hands of the Arab slavers? Where are their parents?” Blanche was referring to parents of all the children, but Everard answered only for the girl she held in her arms."Her mother sent her and her brother on crusade to wash away the sin of their father's heresy. Her mother said if they could pray for his soul in Jerusalemthat he might be saved despite his wickedness.""Her mother will have much to answer for on Judgement Day." Blanche concluded angrily. How could a mother send two half-grown children on such a dangerous journey!But Everard countered sharply, "Don't you think rather her mother was trying to save her from ending like the other orphaned girls of my homeland? As a whore to de Montfort’s marauders!" Blanche caught her breath ― as much at Everard’s bitterness as at his words, but their own exchange was drowned out by the excited voice of the rescued youth, who was exclaiming, “I’m a crusader too! We all were. We were going to free Jerusalem! Stephan saw it in a dream and the King blessed us! Stephan said we would not be opposed because we were free of sin." Bedraggled and ragged as he was, the sense of mission and his faith still echoed in his voice. "Stephan said -- Everywhere they -- In Marseilles...." He faltered as the men around him exchanged outraged exclamations.The Mate urged him to continue."In Marseilles, the French merchants demanded the usual fare for pilgrims." The boy sounded astonished, although it sounded perfectly reasonable to Blanche. "Stephan was furious and cursed them for their greed. ‘We are God's Children,’ he told them, ‘and our Father has called us home to Jerusalem. Did St. Christopher ask the Christ-Child to pay for his crossing?’ But they still refused. Fortunately, there were some Pisan captains in the harbour, who agreed to give us passage for free."The explosion of curses that erupted at this remark bewildered the boy. "That's why the slavers were so far north." "No wonder they had no interest in us." "How many were you in Marseilles?" The Mate asked."Oh, we were five thousand or even more," the youth said proudly“Christ weeps! The bastards must have made a fortune!""Who?""The Pisans you fool! Surely you don’t think the Pisans gave you free passage out of piety?! Or that it was pure chance that you were boarded by slavers? Did the Pisan crew die to the last man defending you?" The question was put entirely sarcastically, but the boy answered earnestly, "We didn't see what happened. We were below deck, and then suddenly there were Arabs with huge, curving swords and niggers that bound our hands and tied us together." "The trade of a lifetime!" The Mate exclaimed bitterly. "5000 slaves picked up for free ― not even the expense and risks of going to Prussiato buy them from the heathens! Those Pisan captains will build palazzios from this day's work!""You can't mean Christians sold these Christian children ― crusading Children ― to the Saracen?" Claire was so horrified that her voice was higher than usual and it pierced through the murmur of male conversation."Yes, Claire, that's exactly what he means ― it is exactly what happened." Blanche answered wearily. She could almost envy Claire her naive refusal to believe there was so much evil among them or the boy's apparent simplicity as he scratched his head trying to understand what the Templars had just told him. But the girl in her arms was shivering and her teeth were chattering. "Please, will someone help me get this child below?" She addressed the men standing about her and at once a half-dozen willing hands offered to carry the girl for her. In her cabin, Claire insisted that they lay the girl in her own bunk, and as soon as the men had withdrawn, Blanche and Claire stripped the girl out of her wet clothes, dressed her in the warmest of Blanche’s nightgowns, and settled her into the bunk tucked in with blankets. “Sit with her a moment,” Blanche urged her waiting woman, “I’m just going to see if Sir Everard knows her name.”But when she returned with the information that the girl called herself Simone, she found Claire sitting on the floor beside the bunk sobbing her heart out.“What’s happened!” Blanche asked in horror. “Has she died?” But even as she asked, she heard the gentle sound of the girl breathing in a deep sleep. Blanche eased herself on the floor beside Claire and asked again, more gently this time. “What is, Claire? What’s the matter?”“All those children, Madame,” she gasped out between sobs. “They were the same children we saw in Chauvigny. The children who sang the “Song of Palestine” in the street and made me want to go on crusade! Oh, Madame! I wanted to join them then and there! Don’t you remember? I wanted to join them, but then you told me you were going to sail in search of Sir Abelard, so I ― I decided to go with you instead. But they were crusaders! And look what happened to them! All of them! Betrayed by Christians! How could He let this happen, Madame! And why?”Blanche had no answer, so she pulled her old serving woman into her arms just as she had the rescued child. It was only after she had been sitting like that for several minutes that she realized the Song of Palestine was running through her head and she couldn’t stop it. It was still luring her forward, toward the Holy Land.
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