Crusade (33 page)

Estrith then recited the words she had devised for the oath:

‘In the presence of God and his disciple, the blessed martyr, St Etheldreda, I swear to uphold the vows of the Brotherhood of St Etheldreda at Ely and give unwavering service to the Brethren of the Blood of the Talisman.

I will adhere to the moral code of the Mos Militum and fight for justice and freedom wherever they are denied.

I will give service to the cause of righteousness in the image of those who went before: Hereward and Torfida, Martin, Einar and Alphonso, and all the members of the Brotherhood who gave their lives in pursuit of liberty.’

We were all moved by the simplicity and power of the words.

I reminded Robert of the seriousness of our undertaking. ‘Our covenant and identities will be known only to us, and no one will be admitted to the Brethren without the unanimous approval of all members.’

‘So, what does this mean for the Pope’s Crusade?’

Sweyn gave our answer.

‘For several reasons, we have decided to join the Crusade. First, we can find out the truth behind the stories being woven for the Christians of Europe. More importantly, we
want to try to prevent bloodshed by appealing to reason and the tenets of the Mos Militum, a code shared by Muslim and Christian knights alike. Finally, we are all aware that, should the Crusade happen in the way it is being planned, it will be the most important event in our lives since Senlac Ridge and your father’s conquest of England. And we all want to be part of it.’

Robert was clearly inspired by all he had heard.

‘Good, then let’s begin. I will get myself organized to leave for Ely immediately, so that I can join you in swearing the oath. I will travel in secret; I don’t want Rufus to know our plans. Then, when we return to Normandy, we will start to build an army to travel to Constantinople.’

I was heartened by Robert’s enthusiasm, but I knew that it was a very long way to the Holy Land. It was going to cost him several Danegelds to get his army there and – God willing – back again.

24. Brethren of the Blood

Disguised as Benedictine monks and nuns, we arrived in Ely in early December 1095. It was an emotional experience for all of us. So much had happened in all our lives as a consequence of the events at Ely in that momentous autumn of 1071.

Estrith was particularly distraught to discover that St Etheldreda’s Chapel had been torn down, along with the abbey and its cloisters, so that there was no trace of any of the buildings that were so prominent in her memory. In their place, twelve years of toil by an army of masons, carpenters and blacksmiths had produced the substantial beginnings of yet another towering tribute to Norman audacity. Begun by Abbot Simeon in 1083 under the direct instructions of Robert’s father, the walls were already high enough to be seen across the Fens for miles around, making the new cathedral resemble a ship floating across the watery landscape.

The King had been true to his word and ordered that the keystone of the central arch of the crypt be positioned exactly where St Etheldreda’s tomb had stood. He had been tempted to destroy the tomb, but relented on advice from Simeon and his clerics. To Estrith’s great relief, the tomb had been moved down into the crypt when it was finished a year ago.

Abbot Simeon had died and King Rufus had not
appointed a replacement, so we sought the help of Gyrth, acting Abbot, who happened to be English, to gain access to the crypt. We swore him to secrecy about our visit, and he agreed to grant us access to the crypt at the end of the working day.

He met us after evening prayers, and gave me the sad news that Wolnatius, the survivor of Ely whom I had met on my previous visit, had died a few years ago. As far as Gyrth knew, he had been the last survivor of the siege still alive.

As the monks of Ely made their way back to their cells after prayers, we lit torches and made our way to the crypt. Striding across the huge flagstones of the nave, I was amused to think about the price the quarry in Northamptonshire had received in payment for the stone: 8,000 barrels of Ely’s finest produce – eels!

As we descended to the crypt, we all felt apprehensive. What we were about to do would forge an unbreakable covenant between us – one which we knew, in due course, would almost certainly reveal our true destinies. Not only that, but we were going to take the vow in a place that held so much meaning and symbolism.

The din of the hordes of workmen had stopped and the gentle plainchant of the monks had drifted away, but the silence was only fleeting as a raw easterly wind began to whistle through the fragmentary skeleton of the cathedral and our footfalls boomed around the vast space. Our breath turned to mist in the cold night air and the echoes made us whisper to one another.

Sweyn led the way. He was the first to lift his lantern to reveal the low, vaulted ceiling of the crypt and the colossal
round columns that supported their counterparts in the nave. The space was bare, except for St Etheldreda’s tomb, standing proudly in the middle. Estrith recognized it immediately, and we all stood back to allow her to reflect on those chilling moments when her life and that of her sister had been spared by the intervention of a mysterious burst of sunlight.

Estrith went over to the tomb. It was just as it had been described to me. The plain stone sarcophagus was topped by a finely dressed slab, unadorned save for the outline of the saint’s form chased into it and, carved in relief, standing proud of it, her hands in prayer. We stood in silence, deep beneath the nave, the echoes gone, the wind now barely audible.

It is strange how something as plain as a block of stone can strike fear into the hearts of even the most resolute of men. Cold and unyielding, and piled high with others of its kind, it creates an eerie presence that seems to possess a life of its own. The stones of the crypt reverberated, as if they could speak, and gave birth to dark corners and gloomy shadows which concealed secrets and mysteries.

Estrith ended the unnerving silence by pulling a rosary from a small purse on her belt.

‘Nobody noticed me take this when we were dragged from the chapel all those years ago. I have kept it ever since. As we don’t have the Talisman to wear, I thought we should each wear this rosary as we take the oath.’

Made of striking pearls and rubies, the beads culminated in a delicate silver cross on which was chased the figure of the crucified Christ. Estrith placed it around our necks in turn. We then each placed our left hand on St
Etheldreda’s hands and clasped our right hand to our chest in the Roman salute of the Brotherhood of Ely, taking it in turns to recite the words which would become the guiding light of the rest of our days.

Robert was the last to take the oath. He had remembered the words perfectly and recited them with meaning, reaffirming a vow that had been intended to persuade his father to be a fair and just king. Had he been a better king, after Ely? Some say he did become a more sympathetic ruler; others say his tyranny never abated. Regardless of that, his firstborn and successor as Duke of Normandy had taken a new oath, affirming everything that the Brotherhood had fought for. Their suffering and death had not been in vain.

We placed our weapons on the tomb, formed ourselves into a circle around it and held hands as Estrith prayed for us.

‘Blessed martyr, protect this small band of sinners and help us to be courageous in everything we do. We will strive to bring honour to your name and live up to the example of those who showed us the way. In the name of God Almighty. Amen.’

And so, our small group of brothers-in-arms had become a true brotherhood. Not only that, we had sanctified our bond in the exact place where Hereward’s brotherhood had been formed. We all felt elated to be able to inherit the legacy of all that had been hoped for at Ely, but we were also daunted that with swearing the oath came so much responsibility – both as brethren and as individuals.

We made haste to Normandy, where Robert had to finance, recruit and prepare a new army for an expedition the like of which had not been attempted since the days of the legions of Rome.

Robert garnered his resources over the first few months of 1096 in concert with many others from as far afield as Germany, Christian Spain and southern Italy to put together the host of avenging Christians that the Pope had called for. We heard the news of each new contingent and listened to the ever more hateful rhetoric with growing anxiety.

Besides Robert of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse, the men who provided the majority of the Crusade’s money and manpower were some of the richest men in Europe: Godfrey of Bouillon, the second son of Count Eustace of Boulogne, who mortgaged all his estates to pay for his adventure; Count Robert of Flanders who, like Raymond of Toulouse, was driven by religious fanaticism; Stephen, Count of Blois, who was bullied into going by his domineering wife to atone for his many sins; and Baldwin of Boulogne, Godfrey’s brother, who was motivated by simple greed and had every intention of staying in the Holy Land to create his own Christian fiefdom.

The formidable Bohemond of Taranto, the eldest son of Robert Guiscard, also ‘took the cross’ to the Holy Land, as it came to be known – through the practice adopted by the Crusaders of sewing a cross on to their surcoats, or painting it on to their shields. A man who stood a head taller than any of his contemporaries, he was as fierce as he was tall and had spent his life fighting Byzantines and Muslims in southern Italy and the Adriatic.

Bohemond also brought a large group of Norman knights from Calabria, Apulia and Sicily, battle-hardened men used to fighting Arab armies. Among them was another giant, Tancred of Hauteville – only twenty years old and fluent in Arabic, he had already made a reputation for himself as a ferocious warrior.

There was one other leader of the Crusade, whose army of peasants, thieves and vagabonds left Europe long before the knights and professional soldiers. Peter the Hermit, a short, skinny ascetic with long, unkempt hair, was not fond of washing himself or his meagre clothes, walked barefoot, drank only wine and ate only fish. Despite his repulsive appearance and odd habits, he was a remarkable orator who inspired large crowds, which followed him around as if he were a messiah. By May of 1096, his multitude, over 20,000 strong, was on its way to Constantinople. The horde had almost no money, few weapons and little idea where the Holy Land was, but they had a blind faith compelling them to go – men and women, young and old, from all over Europe.

When Peter the Hermit’s followers reached Germany, their anti-Muslim hatred found another, much easier target – the other ‘infidels’, the placid and inconspicuous Jews who had lived at peace in Europe for centuries. Like a contagion, as the Crusaders passed through the towns and cities of central Europe, their fanaticism spread to the local population, inciting them to slaughter their Jewish neighbours and fellow citizens in their thousands.

What we feared would happen had begun, but long before we had expected it. The Jews just happened to get in the way.

Robert’s biggest dilemma in preparing his army was how to pay for it. The sum required was so huge, it would have impoverished his duchy for years.

He called the Brethren together to discuss it.

‘I estimate I need four times my annual income to pay for the thousands of people who want to make the journey. Several of my ancestors made pilgrimages to Jerusalem; most never came back. I’ve been checking the accounts. Do you realize that, as well as knights and infantry, I need to take a complete duplicate of my administration and every skill and trade in the realm, from grooms to blacksmiths, whores to falconers? My steward has calculated that we will need four hundred carts and double the number of oxen to pull them! I think we can find enough whores, but where will I find eight hundred oxen?’

Imperturbable as always, Edwin came up with the obvious solution.

‘Can’t you take fewer people?’

‘If only that were possible; every priest in the realm is preaching salvation to those who take up the cross. They are swearing oaths to God to free the Sacred Places. Once they’ve done that, I can’t deny them passage. That would be tantamount to heresy – and would lead to me being accused of the same crime as the Muslims.’

I had anticipated Robert’s dilemma and had been thinking about it for a while.

‘Robert, I have a suggestion for you.’

‘Please! I need a very large pot of gold.’

‘Well, I think I know where there is one. Rufus covets Normandy like a parched man craves water. Why don’t you pledge him a controlling share of the wealth of the
dukedom? I have spoken to your Chancellor, and he estimates its value at around 10,000 German marks. According to the great ledger of taxes and tithes drawn up in your father’s reign, if the King were to impose a geld of four shillings per hide throughout the entire kingdom, he could raise the money. He wouldn’t be very popular, but I don’t think that would bother Rufus.’

‘Edgar, you’re a cunning old fox; that might work!’

A few weeks later, Rufus, King of England, made a personal delivery of the huge geld.

He entered Rouen in grand style with enough coin to acquire two-thirds of the duchy: 67 barrels, each containing 100 pounds of silver. In exchange he took possession of his homeland and united England and Normandy. His long-term ambition had been achieved – sovereignty over a land that stretched from the wildernesses of Wales and Scotland to the gates of Paris.

Robert, although saddened by the loss, was at long last freed from the burden of his inheritance and possessed of sufficient resources to begin a dramatic new adventure in a distant land.

PART FIVE

For God’s Sake

25. The Purple

We had to reach the Alps before winter, and in September of 1096 all was ready for the long journey across Europe. The various contingents took different routes, partly out of preference, but also to help spread the impact of the vast horde on local supplies of fresh food.