"A Widow's Crusade:" Chapter 8

Montfort, GalileeOctober - December 1212  Abelard was exhausted, but he could not sleep. It was pouring rain and the sound of it drumming on the roof, gurgling down the gutters and shaking the trees was like a file to his nerves. The room was damp because he had not bothered with a fire. He tried to keep away the chill by pulling his cloak over his blankets, but still he was uncomfortable. The blankets smelt musty and dank. He got out of bed and went to the fireplace, determined to light a fire, but quickly discovered he had neither flint nor ember. He returned to bed. He had to sleep. He needed his wits for the morning. There was so much to do - things he should have done today and had failed out of distraction. He had to sleep.But every time he closed his eyes a memory threatened him. His brother had been two years older than he, and he could see his 16 year-old face taunting him as he struggled to get up from the turf where his brother pinioned him with a contemptuous toe on his stomach and a sword at his throat. His brother’s friends clustered around laughing and egging them on. Abelard was supposed to beg for quarter. His brother had won ― as usual. Instead he'd reached up and grabbed the blunted sword in his hand and yanked his brother to the ground with him. By the time they were finished he had a black eye, loose teeth, and three broken fingers, but his brother's nose was smashed and gushing blood and three of his ribs were cracked. His brother's friends had backed away, and his brother had never fought with him again.But they hadn't always been adversaries. There had been the dreadful year of  '83 when their father, although the Count of Poitou's vassal, had raised up in rebellion against him at the instigation of Henry the Young King on the assumption that the Old King would always support his favo­rite. But rebellion was rebellion, and the Old King sent his third son, Geoffrey, with Breton mercenaries to chastise the rebels. Geoffrey seized the opportuni­ty to put himself at the head of the rebels and rise up against his father, so Abelard's father had soon found himself fighting under Geoffrey of Brittany against not only his liege Richard of Poitou but against the Old King himself. Both Abelard and his brother Renaud had been squires at the time, serving with other households, but the news that their father was with the rebels at Mirabeau brought them together. Renaud sent Abelard to plead clemency for their house from the Old King and Count Richard while he himself set off "to talk sense to their father." What ensued was such a violent fight that they had come to blows. Luckily, Renaud managed to knock their father out, drag him outside and tie him to his horse, so he could take him out of the rebel camp by force. When their father came to again, he vowed to kill Renaud and verbally disinherited him, but that had only been in his rage. As always, they were soon reconciled again ― and took part in the Young King's plundering of Rocamdour, leaving Abelard to bear the brunt of Count Richard's rage for this new defection.It was also Renaud who had come to Abelard's aid when their father decided to marry Abelard off to a neighbouring widow. Abelard had refused and his father had unceremoniously locked him in a cellar with the words “when you're hungry enough, you'll come to your senses” Renaud had stolen the key from their father when he fell asleep over his wine and not only released Abelard but loaned him his best horse and four Louis so he could get out of range of their father's temper.          It had taken three months and much intercession on his mother's part, but his father had eventually forgiven him, received him back into the family circle with a hearty hug and a new stallion ― so he wouldn't have to borrow his brother's next time they had "a little falling out." Abelard could not get comfortable. He punched at the pallet under him and then took his shirt from a hook and bunched it up under his head. His mother seemed to bend over his bed as she had when he had been sick as a little boy. He could remember her long braid tickling his chest as she bent to brush his hair from his fevered forehead. He had resisted the gesture, feeling it was beneath his dignity as a boy, who was old enough to have his own pony and a short-sword. She had smiled, and accepted the rejection stoically. But she had not left his bed-side for more than a few minutes as long as he was ill. Her devotion to him had never wavered, and was never over-shadowed by jealousy or a clash of wills. His best memory of her was in the dim little family chapel built in first floor of the old keep. She had spent hours there on her knees. She prayed, she said, for the souls of the four daughters she had buried as children, but also, Abelard suspected, for a husband who could not keep an oath and an elder son who did not hesitate to plunder abbeys and churches. She alone had seen Abelard's crusade as something more than ill-advised adventuring. She had hoped that he would intercede with both heavenly and earthly lords to salvage the fortunes and souls of her husband and elder son.She had walked him out into the ward. "Promise you will take care of yourself. No, don't bother, I know that is the last thing on your mind." She had sighed. She knew he had his sights set on Lady Blanche, and more than once she had tried to talk him out of it. Lady Blanche might love him all she wanted, his mother had pointed out practically, but it was her father who decided who she would marry. Monsieur de Vacour had made his opinion of Abelard plain enough. Why did he insist on butting his head against a stone wall?He had bent and kissed her on the forehead. "I will not do anything foolhardy." He had promised, confident that he could win all the honour and fame he needed without going beyond the limits of his very considerable skills and assumed courage.His mother had managed a smile, but it was without glitter. Her sadness had been too heavy. She drew a deep breath and changed the subject. "If you get the chance, try to ― to explain to Count ― King Richard. He is said to be indulgent to his comrades-in-arms. This crusade means a great deal to him. If you can make him understand that your father is not really disloyal...." She had not finished her thought, sighing deeply instead.They both knew that his father was inveterately disloyal. In '89 he'd supported Old King for the first time in 10 years ― and the only time he lost. Of course Abelard's father managed to jump ship at the last minute, about the same time Prince John did, but Richard only held him all the more in contempt. It was the loyal William Marshal who was with the Old King to the end who was rewarded, not a turn-coat like de la Guiltiere who had rebelled against Richard so often before.Everyone else understood this perfectly, but Abelard's father had been furious at the slight, and issued a challenge to William Marshal, demanding a joust "without re­straint." Renaud had called his father an "ox-brain" when he heard. He had heatedly pointed out that the Marshal was the best knight in Christendom, that not even King Richard could beat him. To which Abelard's father had replied that that was why Abelard would have the "honour" of representing his "aged" father. Abelard was hardly modest when it came to his own skills, but a joust with the Marshal to the death just because his father had been treated as he deserved was not to his liking. It had come, as it must, to a violent argument, in which Abelard was accused of everything from disloyalty and cowardice to being a changeling.          Renaud had found the last charge immensely diverting, declaring that it explained all sorts of "unbrotherly" behaviour in the past. He had even speculated on who had cuckolded their father. Abelard and his mother had been considerably less amused, and the ensuing fight had quite over-shadowed the previous one. Abelard had never seen his mother so upset, which only enraged him further. She had trembled with emotion, and kept repeating "how can you do this to me? How can you do this to me?" Eventually A­belard had stormed out in the middle of the night and ridden straight to King Richard where he took the cross. Fortunately, the Marshal disdained to accept the ludicrous chal­lenge issued by Abelard's father, but Abelard kept hearing his brother's taunts in the rain on the roof. Twenty-two years and they were suddenly as clear as if they had been yesterday. "That's why you're taller than the rest of us. Did he have a long dick too, mother?"Abelard pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the voice in the rain."Now I know why he's so much fairer than me. I remember as a little boy there was a beautiful troubadour with long, blond hair. You remember, don't you father? That troubadour with the golden locks that mother was so fond of." His father’s grumbled reply was lost in the thunder, but not the taunting of his brother. "Bastards can't inherit, Abelard. No matter what happens to me, bastards can't inherit."Abelard flung back the covers and pulled on a pair of braies and a shirt. Barefoot and without any form of head-covering, he went out into the rain. Beyond the orchard was a stone wall that they hadn't finished building. Lord Hughes had decided he needed the men and stone for repairing the castle instead. The workmen had left at the end of the day, thinking they would return in the morning, but found themselves deployed at the castle the next day. They had left tools lying about. Abelard took up an abandoned shovel and started cutting into the rain-softened clay. In line with the wall, he cut a foundation ditch, two feet wide, two feet deep. The work of a despised slave. His lungs protested and breathing became difficult. The air rasped through his throat, his chest heaved. Before long his back and shoulder muscles started aching and then cramping. He drove himself with memories of the galley-master's drum. After a while his muscles no longer hurt so much. Maybe the rain let up. The ditch lengthened. Sometime before dawn he let the shovel drop and dragged himself back to the mill. Just inside the door of the former kitchen, he collapsed. His dreams were confused and inarticulate. He was a boy again, wrestling with his brother. His brother lost and then was furious and accused him of cheating. His father gagged him and sold him, and his first master kept stroking his cheek and telling him how beautiful he was while he forced his penis down Abelard's throat. He tried to fight him off, but he was lamed or chained. His mother was sobbing that he had failed them all. Count Richard had laid siege to their castle, only it was a Saracen city that was under siege and his brother was pouring oil down on him as he tried to scale the walls. He woke shivering with fever, and knew that he had to get himself out of his wet clothes and into something warm. Only when he tried to rise, did he become aware that he was no longer in the mill but up in the castle. His clothes were wet with sweat not rain, and he was being tended by the Jewish doctor from Montfort. The man was measuring liquid into a glass, and only his eyes shifted when he heard Abelard stir. "Lie still and don't talk." He ordered simply, and Abelard did as he was bid. His throat hurt so much he couldn't swallow without acute pain. The doctor bent over and gave him the potion to drink. Abelard lost conscious­ness again.Later Emilie came to visit him. She explained they had sent a page down to fetch him when he didn't appear at dinner. They had found him in the kitchen, covered in mud and feverish. Emilie reproached and queried him with her eyes, but he couldn't explain.         Lord Hughes dropped by later. He urged Abelard to get well soon. They needed him, and incidentally he wanted to take Lady Blanche to the pilgrimage sights, but, of course, had to wait until Abelard was on his feet again. What on earth had he been doing digging ditches in the rain?Abelard hadn't been able to explain. Lord Hughes nodded. Then he laid his hand on his shoulder, told him to get well and left.When he was well enough, he got dressed and went down to dinner. Everyone seemed pleased to see him, even Lady Blanche. He looked over at Claire at the lower table, and she smiled at him somewhat guiltily. As before, he sat next to Blanche and shared her goblet. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her. She had puffy bags under her eyes, and a fine but extended network of wrinkles across her face, marking the borders of her emotions. Despite the silk veils, he could see her chin was sagging, and she had grown thick around the waist. He would no longer be able to enclose it in his two hands ― even if she gave him the opportunity. She was attrac­tive, but she was, as Claire had said, an ageing widow not a maid.The next morning, Hughes and Emilie made ready to take their guest to the major pilgrimage sights: Capernaum, where Christ had fed the multitudes, Cana, Nazareth, Samaria and the tomb of the Baptist, Bethlehem, the site of Christ's baptism on the Jordan, Jerusalemitself. Hughes, of course, would not risk the journey to pilgrim sights in Arab hands, but he would see that his wife and Lady Blanche joined an escorted group of reputable pilgrims and would await their return at the border.        Hughes gave Abelard last minute instructions for the duration of his absence. He planned to visit his father and brother before returning. Maybe they would spend Christmas with his father. Lady Blanche might want to be in Bethlehemat Christmas. There was no reason to return to Montfort before the feast of St. Sebastion ― unless that was what Emilie wished. Yvonne was being left behind.Abelard went across to the tower to take his leave of Emilie. It was pouring rain again, and his cloak was almost soaked through before he reached the entry way. Emilie scolded him at once, saying that after such a recent bout of scarlet fever he should take better care of himself. Then she took him by the arm and led him to the window-seat. "You are all right aren't you, Sir? You gave us such a scare." She looked up into his face, begging mutely for an explanation. But what was he supposed to say? Seeing it was useless, Emilie gave up and released him. She admitted she hoped to talk her father-in-law into coming to Montfort for Christ­mas. She did not like Hughes' brother's wife and would rather not spend Christmas with her.It was still pouring when Abelard reached the landing of the first floor entry and he paused in unconscious dismay. Out of no where, Lady Blanche appeared beside him on the landing. "I've been meaning to give you this." She held his old velvet cloak out to him. "Now, I know why you were so angry about it ― You doneed it in Pales­tine." It was meant as a joke, and she tried to smile. Abelard took the cloak in his hands. The velvet had suffered from the years folded at the bottom of a chest, but the beaver lining was wonderful. The hand holding it was warmer already. Lady Blanche started to turn away. "Wait!" He ordered.She paused, waited tensely."There's something I have to know."She turned back to face him, her face guarded and impassive."Was it my father or my brother, who refused to pay my ransom?"He saw her recoil in shock. Then she looked at him more closely, a slight frown hovered at her brow. "Refused? But - there wasn't any ransom request.""Of course there was! I know. I had to verify the sum! 250 Louis tournais. It was high, but not unmanageable. It was sent to Count Richard before he left Palestine!"  "Ah." She stopped. "You don't know.""Know what?""King Richard was ship-wrecked on his return. He was held hostage for more than a year by the Holy Roman Emperor."Abelard stared at her. Richard a captive?  "But he was released.""Yeeees." She drew the word out. He sought her eyes for the first time since she had come to Palestine, but now she evaded his look. "But not before King Philip had offered the Emperor more than whatever Queen Eleanor could raise. King Philip was in league with Prince, now King, John of England, and they tried to prevent King Richard's release."Abelard felt as if someone had given him a blow to the head. He was reeling slightly. "Richard was held hostage, and King Philip intrigued against him ― of course, my father...."Blanche fussed with her veils. "When King Richard was eventually released, he went straight to England. He had to. His mother had raised most of his ransom there. Eventually his brother submitted to him and was forgiven.""Of course." Abelard only whispered the words, but they were acid nevertheless. He was no longer seeing the rain soaked ward of Montfort in Galilee. Richard would forgive his brother John, his own flesh and blood, but not a vassal, certainly not one who had been disloyal so often before. "King Richard never delivered the ransom request." It wasn't a question any more."Oh, Abelard! We all thought you were dead. There were other crusaders who returned. None of them had seen you alive after the Battle of Jaffa. There was even one who claimed he had seen you go down when your horse was killed. He said no one could have survived under hoof in that fray. He said you were dead.""You were told I was dead? My whole family thought I was dead?""Your mother refused to believe it." Blanche admitted in a frail voice. "We ― we all thought she was a little demented." On her deathbed, Abelard's mother had sent for Blanch. By then, Blanche had been married to Gouzon for almost six years and had borne him two children. But Madame de la Guiltiere had asked Blanche come to her, and Blanche had ridden 60 miles in bitter winter weather to reach her.Madame de la Guiltiere had been ailing for sometime. More than once she had been found wandering around the ward in her night-gown, insisting she wanted to go home. No one could convince her that she was at home. She looked at her son and daughter-in-law and drew back her head in dignified disgust. On other days, her mind was so sharp she could challenge her son about the number of cattle that were being kept in one or the other pasture, and remind her daughter-in-law that they should send a gift to one of their neighbours because it was his 50th birthday.When Blanche arrived she had recognised her at once ― and in the next instant ordered a baffled serving maid to fetch Sir Abelard. "He will want to know Lady Blanche has come at last. He will be glad to see her."Blanche exchanged a look with the serving girl, and the girl had curtsied and disappeared. Blanche tried to gently remind her hostess that Abelard was dead. Madame de la Guiltierre had responded with irritation. "Abelard is not dead! I don't blame you for marrying Gouzon." She added quite rationally. "It was a sensible match. But when Abelard comes home he will need your help. Renaud takes too much after his father. You must help Abelard. He loved you sincerely."The memory of those words brought sudden tears to Blanche's eyes, and she hastily looked away, pretending curiosity about what had made one of the dogs bark by the stables."Thank you." Abelard murmured while she was looking away and when she looked back he had started down the stairs into the rain, still carrying his cloak. Only when he was half way across the ward, did he think to swing it over his shoulders. He did not look back at her once.

Copyright © 2012 Helena P. Schrader