Stewart Binns - Crusade

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.

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.

Robert’s Norman army included many Norman knights based in England and a few dozen native Englishmen who could afford the costs of horses, grooms and men-at-arms. I was given the honour of leading the English with my own staff and retinue. Edwin became my standard-bearer and Sweyn my aide-de-camp. He was granted a full knight’s title by Robert – Sir Sweyn of Bourne – which allowed Adela to revert to her role as Sweyn’s wife and take the title Lady Adela of Bourne, thus granting her sufficient status to mix with other high-born Crusaders. Robert also found a title of esteem for Estrith, appointing her as Abbess of Fécamp, a dormant appellation within his gift for a foundation that had been closed during his father’s reign.

Several other lords and knights brought their wives – some even brought their children – so Adela and Estrith had far more female company than they had been used to.

Our route took us via Lyon and Geneva and we crossed the Alps well before the first snows, refreshing ourselves with an extended stay outside the gates of Turin. We were fêted everywhere we went with wild cheering and gifts of food, wine and religious relics. Masses were said for us, and many of our knights were blessed with more amorous gifts by women along the route.

In some places, a few particularly ardent souls took the spontaneous decision to join the Crusade, closed up their houses, gathered their belongings and weapons and found a place in the convoy.

I often looked back to admire the remarkable sight that we presented – an immensely long band of colour weaving its way through the lush autumn countryside. The usual martial array of heraldic pennons, gonfalons and war banners in every hue imaginable had been superseded by the blood red of Christ’s cross. It also seemed to be painted on every shield and embroidered on every surcoat and cloak, creating a striking statement of common cause.

Songs and prayers often broke the monotonous trundle of the carts and the clatter of hooves, and there were always the laughter and animated conversation of excited people, enthused by their mission.

Robert was a well-organized leader. The daily march was carefully shepherded and the route meticulously plotted; only the dust of southern Italy created some minor inconvenience. We all had mixed feelings. The cause seemed worthy enough – to replace oppressive Muslim rule with a benign Christian realm like the one Count Roger had created in Sicily, a sovereignty now welcomed by Muslims.

But what if the stories were exaggerated, or not even true?

When we arrived at Bari, we met with the two larger convoys, the armies of Robert of Flanders and Stephen of Blois. A huge armada of Pisan, Genoese and Venetian ships was waiting for us, but the captains advised us that the autumn gales of the Adriatic were too great a risk and suggested we sit and wait for the spring. That was easier said than done but, with his typical calm efficiency, Robert made a detailed plan which the other two leaders were happy to accept.

To prevent us swamping the local population and resources, we retreated far into the woods of the hilly hinterland to make camp, and only quartermasters and stewards were allowed to Bari to buy provisions in the markets. Most of our food we would find for ourselves in the forests and rivers, and we would make our own entertainment.

After an uneventful but surprisingly cold winter gorging ourselves on fish and game, we finally crossed the Adriatic and landed in Durazzo in late February 1097. There we met two more huge caravans of Crusaders: the knights of Bohemond of Taranto, who had sailed from Brindisi; and the biggest army of all, the formidable collection of zealots and soldiers of fortune under the command of Raymond of Toulouse and his son, Bertrand, who had chosen to cross the plains of northern Italy and follow the Adriatic coast from Trieste.

We used the old Roman road from Durazzo to Constantinople and made good progress despite the now gargantuan scale of our army, a host of over 60,000. Despite our best efforts, Count Raymond was impetuous and cared little for the peasant communities we were passing. We descended on them like a plague of locusts, leaving in our wake fields, barns and markets bare of anything edible or useful.

Discipline began to decline and soon money was no longer left in exchange for goods; they were simply stolen. Whores weren’t rewarded for their services, and eventually were discarded altogether in favour of the rape of local women.

Alexius, the Emperor of Byzantium, had sent emissaries and small units of the Imperial Guard to greet us in Durazzo, no doubt to keep an eye on us. Understandably, these men tried to prevent the looting and, inevitably, violent clashes followed, among the worst of which took place in the Ancient Greek city of Thessaloniki, one of Byzantium’s most important centres of trade and learning.