Stewart Binns - Anarchy

As Captain Giovanni was at pains to make clear to me, it was my duty, as commander of Lady Livia’s escort, to tell her the news. It would have been an onerous task at the best of times but, in the circumstances, it was a task I would have given the earth to avoid.

Livia was making her final preparations for the journey when I approached her. Lady Constance was scurrying around, checking that everything was in order.

‘My Lady, may I have a word in private?’

‘You can speak in front of Lady Constance.’

‘Ma’am, in this instance, we should speak alone.’

She looked annoyed and inconvenienced, but she grudgingly acquiesced to my request.

‘Very well.’

We walked a little way down the quayside. Livia would still not look me in the eye.

‘May I call you Livia?’

‘No, you certainly may not!’

‘I need to talk to you as a friend–’

‘Don’t be impertinent!’

‘Livia, please listen to me. I have some news you are not going to like.’

She suddenly turned and looked at me, something she had not done in weeks. Although she tried to appear forthright, I could see that she was anxious.

‘Well, spit it out, friend .’

‘Count Roger already has a wife: Hodierna of Rethel, widow of Heribrand III of Hierges.’

Livia’s face froze in horror, and her eyes widened; she did not speak for some time. I could see her trying to compose herself. Her hands started to shake and I stepped towards her, in an attempt to comfort her, but she waved me aside in a gesture that obviously said no. She dropped her chin on to her chest and took a deep breath.

‘I’m ready to leave. I would like to go immediately.’

‘To Antioch?’

‘Yes, to Antioch.’

‘Very well, my Lady.’

I left four marines with the galley and, using horses provided by Roger’s stables in Seleucia, we rode off as a column. The ladies and their baggage were transported in a small carriage, and I placed six pairs of riders to the front and six to the rear. Eadmer led the rear platoon while I took the lead. The road to Antioch was in excellent condition and we made good progress.

Late in the afternoon, the huge walls of the most impressive citadel in the Holy Land towered above us. It was just as my mother had described it; her stories of the crusaders’ long siege and my father’s part in the eventual fall of the city came flooding back to me.

The Holy Land had been under the control of the Christian Princes ever since the fall of Antioch in 1098 and, a year later, the capture of Jerusalem. Since then, the Christian counties of Edessa and Tripoli, the principality of Antioch and the Kingdom of Jerusalem had held at bay a great encirclement of Muslim armies – and even, in some cases, formed alliances with them.

In the recent past, the old generation of conquering Christian Princes had gradually been replaced by their equally ambitious offspring. The last of them had just died, King Baldwin I of Jerusalem. Having already secured the vital route to the Red Sea at Aqaba, he had been leading a dramatic incursion deep into Egypt with an army of only 1,000 knights and 3,000 infantry.

He was sixty years old, a veteran of countless battles, but an old wound opened in his abdomen and he became desperately ill. He died en route back to his kingdom at the remote desert outpost of al-Arish. Determined that his body should not be left behind in Egypt, he had ordered his cook, a resourceful man called Addo, to prepare his corpse for the long caravan to Jerusalem. Addo was required to open his belly, discard his entrails and salt the rest inside and out. His eyes, mouth, nostrils and ears were pickled in spices and balm and placed inside his body, which was then sewn up, rolled in a carpet and carried back to Jerusalem on the back of his horse. He was buried next to his brother, Godfrey de Bouillon, another legendary figure from the Great Crusade, and another name whose exploits resonated with me from stories my mother had told me as a boy.

I mention the account of King Baldwin’s death and embalming because it was related to me by two knights who were serving with the King and witnessed the events. They were Hugh de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer – two men who would soon play a significant role in my life.

We were escorted through Antioch’s famous Dog Gate and greeted outside the keep by Prince Roger’s surprisingly aged wife, Princess Hodierna, who ushered us into the Great Hall. The whole city seemed deserted, the garrison almost empty and there were only a few servants in the hall. The iciness between the two women was palpable – their jaws set, they resembled two animals stalking one another before a fight. The princess had a chair brought forward for Livia, but she declined the offer.

Livia introduced us, her voice and demeanour betraying no sign of the precariousness of her situation.

‘I am Livia Michelle, Princess of Venice. This is my escort, Harold of Hereford, Knight Commander of Venice. I am here to marry my betrothed, Prince Roger of Salerno.’

Princess Hodierna’s reply was outwardly civil, but her words held a barely disguised hint of condescension.

‘My dear, I think you may have heard by now, Prince Roger and I were married three months ago.’

‘Yes, I have heard. But the fact remains, there is a marriage agreement between Venice and Antioch, an arrangement made in person by my brother, Domenico.’

‘That’s as maybe, my dear, but we thought you were dead or enslaved. There was no word of you for months. And Venice could only tell us that you had left them a year ago.’

‘I need to see Prince Roger.’

‘I’m afraid that will not be possible. He left a week ago with the army. The Muslims are wreaking havoc in the east.’

‘If you will provide us with a guide, we will go after him.’

‘My dear, this is Palestine, it is the middle of June. You cannot go riding off into the desert.’

Livia’s patience finally snapped.

‘I am not your “dear”. I am Lady Livia. If you will not provide a guide, we will find our own way.’

Livia turned to me for confirmation. I was sorely tempted to say no: it was a venture into the unknown with only two dozen marines as escort, and into what appeared to be an impending battle. But I did not want to embarrass Livia in front of her betrothed’s wife. I simply nodded my assent.

Princess Hodierna, no doubt relieved to be rid of her inconvenient visitor, drew the conversation to a close.

‘Very well, Lady Livia, I will give you a guide. But on your own head be it.’

Livia bowed slightly, turned haughtily and departed with her cape flowing behind her.

As soon as we had left the Great Hall, I confronted my mistress.

‘My Lady, this is not wise. I have no experience of the desert, my men are marines; they fight at sea. There is clearly a battle looming and we would be riding into the middle of it. My advice is to wait for the Prince’s return.’

‘You mean sit in that old keep with that hag of his? It could be months.’

‘Going to see Prince Roger is not going to change anything. They are married. Let us go home to Venice. Your brother will know what to do about the marriage settlement.’

‘You are my escort, not the Venetian Ambassador. I will go to Prince Roger and demand an explanation. He should not have taken a wife without talking to Domenico. There was an important trade agreement in the marriage settlement. If an alliance is not created through marriage between Venice and Antioch, it leaves the door open for Genoa to walk in with a new offer. I need to ensure that Prince Roger confirms the agreement.’

I was impressed with Livia’s calculated summary of the predicament we faced, and her willingness to play her role in it.