Knight with Armour Read online

  “Good evening,” said Osbert, leaning on his stick. “That last course was well run, but how would you manage if the horse didn’t do most of it for you? I wish you could have had more hunting; but no one, except the great lords, is allowed to hunt round here. Now walk that horse about to cool him off. When you have put him away, I want to speak to you at the hall. The manor-court is to-morrow, and we must decide what we are going to say.”

  As Roger watched a groom rubbing the horse down, he reflected on how quickly his adventure was approaching. At Christmas a campaign in the summer had seemed ages in the future, leaving him plenty of time to learn how to handle his arms; now it was nearly the end of March, and he was certainly not a trained knight. But perhaps the tenants would refuse him their help, and in that case there would be no hurry at all. Later, he discussed his speech with his father; they decided he would make a better effect by talking baldly, yet sincerely, and touching the pity of his hearers; also, the speech would have to be translated by Father Matthew, and, as none of the family knew Saxon, they would be entirely in his hands.

  Next day was the Feast of the Annunciation of Our Blessed Lady, and after dinner the court assembled. The hall was full of villeins, standing carefully in their complicated Saxon ranks, though no one paid any attention to that nowadays. Osbert and the priest faced the suitors across the fireplace, while Ralph and Roger stood at the upper end, behind their father. They were neither tenants nor landlords, and therefore technically not part of the court. Roger noticed with secret admiration how smoothly everything went; people spoke spontaneously, there were differences of opinion, yet everything fell out as his father had said it would.

  After the ordinary business had been settled, Osbert spoke of the expedition to the East, and explained it carefully, though no one had talked of anything else for the last two months. Then old Sigbert, that year’s reeve, denied his lord’s righ to tallage for such an object, and the suitors backed him in his refusal. Finally the court was closed, but before anyone could leave Roger came forward, and stood beside Father Matthew. He was nervous and stuttering, but he had thought out carefully what he wanted to say and had already turned it in his mind into simple dog-Latin. He told them of his unfitness for the holy life of the cloister, and of his longing for warfare; he spoke with scorn of the life of the soldier, fighting without loyalty for pay and plunder; he told them how this expedition fitted his aims exactly, and that he would willingly risk death to free the Christians of the East. His brother Ralph blushed and looked away, as we do when we hear our relatives giving way to their emotions in public, but Father Matthew, as he translated, caught some of his warmth, and transmitted it. His elaborate, inflected, Winchester Saxon was rather above the heads of his listeners, but that was what they expected from a priest, and when he had finished there was a faint murmur of applause. No more was said, and the suitors shuffled out of the hall to their cabins on the hillside. Roger felt at a loss. Was this all that had come from his carefully-prepared speech? But Father Matthew came up to him and spoke cheerfully:

  “That went down very well, and I am sure they have taken it to heart. Next Sunday, after Mass, they will come up to me one by one, and each will have something to give, even after this bad year.”

  His father was also smiling. “It couldn’t have gone better. After twenty-five years I ought to know what a manor-court is thinking, and they are all in your favour. As to the bad harvest, some of them had corn stored, and they sold it for money to the townsmen of Rye. I only hope they give it over before they hear that the Council at Westminster have agreed on a double Danegeld for the King.”

  “Two Danegelds!” exclaimed Father Matthew. “Two Danegelds at once! That has never been done before. What can your Red King want with it?”

  “I happen to know what he wants the money for,” said Osbert. “The Duke is going on this pilgrimage, and is trying to raise money just as we are. The King will make him a loan on the security of his land, and rule there till the debt is paid. I heard it at Rye from a knight who was going oversea to warn his cousins in Normandy. It is a very good thing for the pilgrimage; a great many Normans will leave for the East when they hear that our King is coming to rule over them.”

  On the Feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, the 1st of May, most of the contributions had been gathered at the manor, and the three Bodehams sat round a table by the fire, discussing how the money should be spent.

  “There is enough here,” said Osbert, “to send you out as a knight, and a well-armed knight too, if you don’t waste money on provisions for the journey. It is years since I saw an army, unless you count that unhappy fyrd at Dover; but you, Ralph, have been in Wales lately; had the rich knights any new ideas in their armour? They are always thinking of something extra for more safety, as though they would live for ever if they didn’t get killed in battle.”

  “There are no new ideas, really,” Ralph answered, looking at the roof with a frown. “Of course, the knights at court don’t like scars that disfigure their beauty, so they cover their faces as much as they can. I have seen one or two hauberks of interlaced iron rings, without any leather backing; they are so light and cool you can fasten them over the mouth, and still turn your head. Also more and more people are wearing leather breeches, with over-lapping iron plates on the outside, like a mail shirt has. Then you can have your skirts shorter, and they say it is just as comfortable on horseback as cloth chausses, though of course more tiring on foot.”

  “The old Duke and other great lords wore them at Hastings in the conquest,” said his father. “It is not a new idea. But it needs a very good horse to carry all that extra weight, and if you haven’t got plenty of servants, it is cumbersome about the camp.”

  “Otherwise, there is nothing new,” Ralph continued. “Except that everyone wears long mail sleeves down to the wrist, and ties them close with a thong at the end; but you have seen that on my armour.”

  “Let us count up what we have already,” said Osbert. “There is plenty of leather, and the Abbot of Battle has sent two old mail shirts, and promised to lend us his smith. We can make a new leather foundation to fit you, big enough to allow for growth; the smith can take enough iron from the old armour to make you a really good mail shirt, with long sleeves; but you will have to manage with a leather-backed hauberk. If we wait for him to make one of rings only, you will be dead of old age before it is finished. As to the mail breeches, what do you think yourself?”

  Roger had gone off into a daydream. He was leaning back with his hands behind his head, and his eyes fixed on the smoke-hole of the roof. But what he saw was a dusty rutted road, climbing mountains, fording rivers, skirting great castles and enormous cities, running on south-east mile after mile, till it reached a hill with three crosses stand against the sky. He came back to earth with a start, and smiled at this new father who was being so helpful, seeking his opinion as if he was grown up at last.

  “It really depends on how much we can spend. I must have money for the journey; but I have never had armour of my own before. I will take your advice, sir.”

  “Well then,” said Osbert. “I am not in favour of the mail breeches. You may have to fight on shipboard, or escalade a wall; and fighting on foot is largely a matter of getting out of reach of the enemy at the right time. I wouldn’t have got that spear in my leg on the walls of York if I had been quicker on my feet. We will have the skirts of your mail shirt made long, with straps on the inside to go under your knee; that will keep your thighs safe, and you will find that you are much more active than you would be in ironbound breeches. It is not the expense I am thinking of; once you are fairly started you should not need a great deal of money. A well-armed, well-mounted knight, with a follower or two to forage for him, can live very cheaply when he is outside the King’s Peace, as Ralph found in Wales.”

  Ralph guffawed, but Roger frowned and kept silent. That was not the way he saw himself as a knight in the service of the Church; but it was all too difficult to exp
lain to his worldly-wise father.

  They went on to discuss horses and followers. The warhorse was the biggest expense; and in France the price would go up with everyone buying for this expedition; but the breed of English horses had improved in the last thirty years. Eventually it was decided that he should take Ralph’s trained French warhorse, Jack, and leave a sum of money behind; later on Ralph would go to the horse-fair at Moorfields outside London, and buy a two-year-old to train on for himself. Roger was not skilful enough to train a horse for war, and time was short. There would be a hackney to ride on the march, and a packhorse for the baggage. Osbert was insistent that this was enough, as forage must obviously run short wherever such an expedition passed. He also had clear-cut ideas about followers.

  “You don’t want to be cumbered with a crowd of footmen; they always start plundering friendly villages and set the local peasants against you. Take a good steady groom for your warhorse, and a servant to lead the baggage-animal; if one of them can cobble your armour a bit so much the better. There are plenty of peasants round here who want to go, but don’t be led into making yourself responsible for a crowd of crossbow-men by the desire to cut a good figure. The leaders will put them with the other foot in the battle-line, and you will only see them at mealtimes. If you do win a castle in the East, you will have no difficulty in picking a garrison.”

  Roger did not like these constant hints that he was going East to make his fortune, when he was really going to help the oppressed Christians of those parts; but he wanted to remain on good terms with his family, and he said nothing about it.

  When it was known that young Messer de Bodeham could only take two men with him, there was a crowd of applicants from among the more prosperous of the free peasants and townsmen; for this pilgrimage made a much greater appeal to the lower classes than it did among the gentry. Osbert interviewed them personally for the whole of one day, and finally engaged two who seemed the most suitable. Peter the Fleming would lead the warhorse; he had travelled, and spoke good French, he understood horse-management, and it took a good deal of wine to make him drunk. Godric of Rye would look after the baggage; he had learnt leathersewing in a bottle-maker’s shop, and could do simple repairs to the armour; he only knew a few words of French, but as a townsman he was used to making himself understood somehow by incomprehensible foreigners. They were both young, strong, cheerful and active, and though neither had any arms beyond knife and cudgel, Osbert said this was a good thing.

  “The leaders won’t take them to put with the archers in the battleline, and they won’t feel safe if they go off plundering by themselves. You will get better service from unarmed men.”

  By the beginning of June the expedition was taking definite shape. The Council of Clermont had fixed the Assumption of Our Lady, the 15th of August, as the starting day, and it was expected that most of the great lords who were going would be ready by that time. There had been no hesitation as to which leader Roger would follow; the Duke of Normandy had taken the vow, and pledged his lands to raise money; he was the natural head of the Norman race, wherever they might be settled, and any knight would be proud to serve a lord of such high lineage. The only question was, on what terms should Roger serve him?

  “You will have to take some sort of oath,” said his father, “but be sure to swear as little as you can. It would be absurd to set off for the East on your own without any leader at all, considering how little money you have, though that would be the best way to get rich lands when you arrive. The Duke must intend to feed all his followers on the journey, at least through the lands of Christendom; otherwise he wouldn’t be borrowing right and left as he is. Your best plan is to get to Rouen on the Feast day, when they won’t have time to haggle over terms. See the Duke’s marshal and arrange things with him. You will have to swear to follow the Duke as long as he feeds you, that is only common sense; but arrange it that the time-limit at the end is left vague, so that you can transfer to another banner if it seems advisable when you are among the infidels. No knight may break his oath without incurring lasting dishonour, and it is also displeasing to God. The remedy is to be very careful about what you actually swear to.”

  “Surely all this is not very important,” said Roger after a pause. “We are going to help the Christians of the East, and we can count on them to look after us when we get out there. I intend to stay in the East for the rest of my life, but the Duke has arranged to come home after three years, I believe. I can swear to serve him until he begins his homeward journey, and then there will be no misunderstanding.”

  “That would be all right,” answered his father, “but don’t make it too definite. Mind you don’t let the Duke himself decide when the homeward journey has begun; he might force you to follow him back to the Loire, and the borders of Normandy. He is a better man than his brother, but all these fitzRollos stand on the letter of their rights against their vassals. Remember you go to Rouen as an absolutely free agent. You hold no land, and are not the man of any lord. Once you are oversea, neither the King of England nor the Duke of Normandy has any rightful claim on you, except what you incur by your oath. So, if you can’t get good terms, you can go to some other lord.”

  “Still, it would be more honourable to follow our own Duke,” Roger objected, “and everyone says he is an easygoing leader. I shall be his man, for the duration of the pilgrimage only, if I can possibly manage it.”

  There the matter was dropped. Osbert was generally faithful to his promises, but a keen bargainer beforehand, which was why he was well on the way to becoming a tenant-in-chief; but Roger was shy, and uneasy about the whole business. As a younger son and brother he was used to doing what he was told, and he felt that he would come off worst if he had to haggle with the Duke’s clerks.

  In the middle of June bad news came from across the Channel, and Osbert nearly forbade his son to go. Since early spring bands of peasants had been mustering, and marching vaguely south-east towards the Danube. Two badly equipped expeditions, under Walter the Penniless and Peter the Hermit, had fought their way through Hungary, and had been swallowed up in the mountains of the Sclavonians. They had not come back, so presumably the survivors had reached Romania, but other bands had met a worse fate. Father Fulkmar’s band had been dispersed by a Hungarian attack, and Father Godescal’s completely destroyed by the same foe at Merseburg. The Count of Leiningen, leading a well-found army, was stuck outside the same town. Hungary was really the boundary of geographical knowledge. Beyond lay the unknown lands of the Bulgarians and Sclavonians, mountainous and desolate, until you came out at the Christian and civilized Greek cities of the Thracian coast.

  Osbert was appalled. These bands of plunderers had stirred up enemies in the path of the pilgrims, and made the normal overland route to Constantinople unusable for a lawabiding army. It was learned that the Duke of Normandy, in consequence, had decided to go south, to the Norman lands of Italy, and there take ship for the Greek Empire. It would be slower, for it was impossible to sail in the winter, and they would spend months in Apulia, waiting for the spring. Also, Osbert pointed out that it would mean putting all the horses on shipboard, and anyone who remembered the conquest of England knew what a frightful business that was.

  “All the same, there is no other way now,” he said, “thanks to that rabble who have made war on the Hungarians. The Duke is behaving sensibly for once, and you must promise to follow him, and no other lord; otherwise I shall forbid you to go. Now what do you know about the lands you are going to?”

  “Not very much, father,” Roger answered meekly. “We shall winter in Italy in the lands held by the fitzTancreds. They are Normans, and I suppose their land is like any other Norman land. Then we shall cross the sea, and come to the dominions of the Greek Emperor. He is the richest prince in the world, by far, and as we are coming to help him, of course he will succour us. That land is Christian, and has been since the time of the Apostles. When we leave Constantinople we must cross a big river, and then at on
ce we are in the lands where the infidels ravage. Beyond that is Antioch, and then Jerusalem, all Christian lands oppressed by devil-worshippers; and we are to free as much of them as we can.”

  “When you put it like that it sounds quite simple,” said Osbert drily. “But you don’t really know anything about these foreign lands. Anyone who has been to Rome will tell you that Italy is not a bit like Normandy or England; and beyond Italy the whole world is strange. I have been making inquiries, and there is a lay brother in the monastery at Battle who served in the wars, when the Duke of Apulia invaded Romania. To-morrow we shall ride over to see him, and learn what he knows about the country.”

  The next day Roger and his father reached the Abbey in time for dinner. After a meal in the guest-chamber they sought the cellarer’s workshop where Odo the lay brother was mending nets, for he was employed as a fowler. Odo was an elderly man, and his left ear and two fingers of his left hand were missing. He spoke well, in good French, helped out with an occasional Italian word. Like all retired fighting-men, he was delighted to tell the story of his life.

  “I went to Italy as a lad, to serve the Count of Apulia (he wasn’t a Duke then). I could tell you all sorts of adventures I had there, but you want to know about the war with the Greeks, and that was only a few years ago; about sixteen, I should think. It all began like this: there had been trouble in their great city Constantinople, and a new Emperor had turned out the old one, as they do quite often. Those Greeks have no loyalty to their lords, and an oath means nothing to them. But what can you expect from people who won’t obey the Pope, and leave out bits of the Creed? Anyway, the old Emperor, Michael, was a friend of our Duke, Robert. So the Duke thought this was a good reason to invade the Greek Empire, and put the old Emperor back on his throne. However, you want to hear about the country and the fighting, not about who is Emperor over those heretics. Well, it is a great country of mountains and rocks, where the peaks in the distance are no nearer at the end of a day’s march than at the beginning. The sun is very hot, and the springs few, and the water in them so cold that it gives the horses colic. A poor country, and very rocky; I wore out my shoes in a few days, and the horses were always going lame. But among those wastes are the most amazing cities, all made of hewn stone; stone streets, stone houses, and great steep stone walls set with towers; though there is nothing worth plundering in them, because they have all been sacked so often. Well, we landed there; I forget the names of the places, but it’s always easy to land wherever you wish; deep water right up to the cliffs, and no tide like there is here. We conquered wherever we went, even the townspeople couldn’t hold their great stone walls, but somehow we never got a grip of the country; there were always hired soldiers coming in behind us, and cutting up the stragglers. So we marched up and down, hungry men and lame horses, taking what we could find, and Duke Robert was always going back to look after his land in Italy, until presently he died, away from the army. We were left under his son, the Count of Taranto, a fine young warrior and an open-handed leader. He gave up, about six years after we first landed, and I came back to Italy with a damaged hand and no plunder to speak of. I got the Count’s permission to go home to see my family; but my parents were dead, and my brothers still poor, and there were things I ought to repent of; in the end I came here.”