IN THE IMAGE OF THEIR GOD
by
Merlin Douglas Larsen
In the Image of their God
Merlin Douglas Larsen
Copyright © 2012 Merlin Douglas Larsen
Published by Merlin Douglas Larsen at Smashwords
To obtain any commercial gain from this work is prohibited by the author without prior consent.
The author can be contacted at douglarsen50@msn.com
Chapter 1.
The Call To Arms 1095 to 1096
In the year 1095 after the Incarnation of Our Lord, while Henry the so-called Holy Roman Emperor reigned in Germany, and the bigamous King Philip ruled in France, Pope Urban II decided to take matters into his own hands for a restitution of order. Europe was witnessing ever-increasing wars, especially between France and Germany, Germany and Flanders, Flanders and France, France and Normandy, Normandy and England, England and France: and that was just in the north: Never mind the conflict in Italy between Pope Urban’s loyal sons and the followers of Emperor Henry’s pope, Clement III: known by all Frenchmen and Normans and Englishmen as the antipope. Actually, open war had not been a great problem, so far, but it threatened constantly: Their partisans had divided up the city between themselves and neither pontiff dared to make Rome his residence: Even the basilica of St Peter was held partially by soldiers of Urban and the Emperor, and the antipope’s men stood daily with sword in hand before the high alter to deny Urban’s followers access.
If Pope Urban did not do something right away, he would see his flock plunged into the worst sort of war: a religious one, which would be no better than a civil war, in a manner of speaking, the very sort of war which makes Satan grin. Nothing could be more calamitous than to find the sons of Holy Church drawing their swords and charging into each other willy-nilly, each man of them yelling his own war cries so loud and long that he never heard anything else. And although Pope Urban was gratified to know that more of Christendom’s knights would be yelling his name than Clement’s, it would be small comfort indeed.
So Pope Urban decided it was high time to travel into the north, beyond the sheltering wall of the Alps, and call a council of all the clergy to Clermont in Auvergne, in November, to discuss what should be done to bring a little peace back into the lives of the distracted and angry people.
“Furthermore,” he said one evening as he was getting into bed — and his only audience just then was his body servant, a dour-faced Frenchman from Urban’s youth, in Champagne at Châtillon-sur-Marne, when he had gone by the homely name of Odo; but Renaud still went by the name of Renaud, and had never been known by any other; and such are the true friendships between history’s great ones, and those of a thoroughly innocuous stripe, that Renaud’s existence has not been preserved: But if the truth were ever known, we should find that Odo (a.k.a. Pope Urban II) never made a decision without first talking out his feelings within the hearing of Renaud, whose judgment he trusted, and whose loyalty and friendship he valued above all others: This one-sided palaver of the Pope’s was always conducted at the end of each day as Renaud helped his master into bed. So:
“It is not the fault alone of the magnates and sovereign lords, Renaud: Even Holy Church is riven with discord and corruption. No one wishes for peace, when it will deprive him of a lordship, or a manor, or even a cow! Everyone is loudly proclaiming, ‘Peace! Peace! Peace!’ But no one, or precious few, are taking honest steps to get it. The courts are filled to bursting with litigations, between all classes of men, each one trying to justify his thefts and brigandage. I cannot even begin to answer all the complaints which pour into Rome daily: persons suffering unjustly in prison, their worldly goods seized and their bodies held captive until they secure excessive ransoms. And many are not even accorded the decency of living quarters, but suffer cold, hunger and thirst in dank holes in the ground. And some never see the light of day, because they are secretly done to death. And if it were all the work of the laity, I might have some hope that matters could be healed: But bishops and the lesser clergy are just as guilty of these terrible crimes, and all in the name of blasphemy, for they invariably put the name of God upon their actions to justify them.”
He fell silent. Renaud tied the princely nightgown behind at the neck. He knew that Odo would wait now until he said something.
“It is an evil world, Your Grace. But surely you have thought of some solution?”
“I do not know, Renaud. But at this council, the one I have called for at Clermont in November, I might summon the knighthood of France to journey to the East, to fight for the Emperor Alexius. He has sent to me often ere now, and asked if I might encourage mercenaries to travel at his expense to fight the infidel Turks of Anatolia. This could be so much more good to us, if we could somehow channel the ferocious spirit of our knights into more fruitful activity: If they would consent to be persuaded to journey to the East and couch their lances against the infidels and heathens of those parts, they would be doing all of us a double boon: ridding Europe of the plague of war and helping the Emperor to regain the lands of the oppressed Christians of the East. God should surely be pleased at that.”
“Indeed, my Lord,” said Renaud after Urban’s long pause.
“Yes, this is an idea,” said Urban, still sitting up in the huge canopied bed: “I shall think on this more, but how does this sound to you, Renaud? I shall call upon every able-bodied warrior in Christendom to take the cross and journey to the East to liberate the Holy Places. They have lain far too long under the heel of Mahound. It is high time that Jerusalem was returned once and for all to the bosom of Rome. And while such a justified war draws our bellicose sons away from Europe, they shall not be here to wage perpetual warfares against one another. Alexius shall have his mercenaries, and the Land of Our Christ shall be returned to our control.”
“Very good,” said Renaud, stepping toward the door with the candlestick. “But will not the Emperor feel that Jerusalem belongs to his domain? It was once part of the Empire of the East.”
“It belonged to the Roman Empire long before that. I shall extend our help to Alexius, only if he claims dominion as far as Antioch. That was Greek land fairly recently. Jerusalem passed out of their control a generation ago. Franks can hold the Holy Places against the infidel for the Emperor. But I shall insist upon the authority to appoint a worthy son of Holy Church as Patriarch to rule there in our name.”
“This is something new,” said Renaud. “But who will you choose as the commander-in-chief of such an expedition?”
“The most eminent Frank to step forward, of course. But over there, in matters of war, I would expect any of our magnates to obey the Greek Emperor first. This is not an army of conquest I would raise, but an auxiliary force to aid the Emperor in reclaiming his lost provinces. After that, our knights can journey on to Jerusalem and take it away from the Turks.”
Renaud thought that Odo made it sound too simple: For one thing, he had not even addressed the antipope in his plans: What if Guibert of Ravenna — Urban refused to call him even antipope but always Guibert, or Ravenna only — took his cue from Pope Urban and preached a pilgrimage of his own? Or what if he treated with the Greeks in opposition to the papacy of Rome? But Renaud merely nodded and then went out, leaving the Pope to cogitate upon his brilliant scheme in the dark.
Such was the clarity of Urban’s vision, that he was quite awhile getting to sleep that night.
* * *
On November the 18th, Pope Urban stood before those assembled — over 300 bishops and abbots bearing the crosier — and in a voice filled with sorrow and compassion, he said:
“ Dearest Brethren, I Urban, Supreme Pontiff and by authority from God prelate of the whole world, have come before you, the servants of God in these regions, in this time of urgent necessity as a messenger of the Divine Admonition. I hope that all of you within the sound of my voice are free from hypocrisy and are found good and faithful stewards of the ministry which our God has entrusted to you.
“But if there are some of you who secretly harbor in your breasts any deviousness, dishonesty, and are given over to intemperance or injustice or obstruct the laws of God to get gain, then I shall endeavor to correct you. For the Lord has made you stewards over His household to lead the ignorant to safety, and the famished to a table spread with the blessed meal of our Christ. You shall be blessed indeed! if when the Lord of the stewards comes He will find you so faithful.
“You are called to be shepherds, not hirelings. See therefore that you sleep not, but stand with your crosiers in hand and guard the flock on every side. For if through your carelessness or neglect wolves enter the flock and carry off the lambs, you will surely lose your reward. And if, through willful disobedience or rebellion against His Holy Spirit, you transgress the laws of God, and through your bad example lead innocent souls to destruction — becoming to them the very wolves you are to stand guard against! — you will not only lose your reward but shall summarily be cast into that abode with the damned.
“In the words of the Gospel: ‘You are the salt of the earth’. But if you fail, how then will the salting be accomplished? Oh how many men must be seasoned! If you do not salt with the corrective salt of your wisdom the ignorant who gape after the lusts of the flesh, they will be putrefied by the world and will not understand when the Lord speaks to them.
“For if He shall find them filled with worms — that is sins — because of your slothful performance of duty, He will forthwith command them, despised, into that abyss of filth; and because of your sloth, he will straightway banish you from the presence of His love.
“If you would return and become one who salteth, you must be modest, farseeing, prudent, a peacemaker and not a maker of contention, a truth-seeker, pious, just, equitable and pure in heart. For how can the unlearned make others learned? Or how can the impure make others pure, or the immodest teach modesty? If you have soiled hands, how can you minister to those who require cleansing? For as it is written: ‘If a blind man leads a blind man, both will fall into a pit’. Accordingly, first correct yourself, then you can correct those in your care.
“If you would truly be the friend of God, then do what you know is pleasing to Him.
“Especially see to it that the laws of the church are maintained in righteousness. See that simony and other heresy is done away and does not take root among you. Be as the Lord, and see that the buyers and sellers of Holy Church are driven scourged by the lash and driven miserably through the narrow gates to utter destruction. Keep the church in all its ranks free from secular power, that she may be pure. Let the tithes of the fruits of the earth be given faithfully to God and not retained for the use of those not in need nor sold for lucre.
“Let the Truce of God be proclaimed once again in every land. Let him be accursed who has seized upon any bishop, or priest, monk or nun, or upon any pilgrim, man servant or maid servant or traveler, and despoiled them or held them to ransom. Let thieves, adulterers and despoilers of houses be banished from the church and excommunicated.
“Then we must attend to those cases where, as Gregory said: ‘We must consider especially how severely punished will be he who steals from another, if he is infernally damned for not being generous with his own possessions’. For so it happened in the familiar Gospel story, that the rich man was not punished for stealing from another, but because having received wealth he used it badly.
“By these evils, dearest brethren, it has been said that you have seen the world disturbed for a long season, and particularly in some regions of your own provinces, as we have been told. Perhaps because of your weakness in administering justice, scarcely anyone dares to travel upon the open roads for fear of seizure by robbers by day or thieves by night — indoors or out of doors. Wherefore, the Truce established by the holy fathers long ago should be renewed. I earnestly admonish each of you to strictly enforce it in your dioceses. And if anyone be smitten by greed or pride, to infringe upon the Truce of God, let him be anathema by virtue of the authority of God and by the decrees of this council.
“Now dearest brethren, I have somewhat more to say, with regard to this grave condition of sin and contention in which we find the world so deeply enmeshed. We shall be wise, if in bringing punishments against those malefactors, we offer them some gainful form of penance. If they would bring forth fruits mete for repentance, let them embark upon the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Not with a staff in hand, but with the sword. Let the word go forth from this council to all Christendom that I, your Supreme Father, call forth the might of our armies to take upon them the cross of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and in His Holy Name be ready to depart from their homes by the coming of the summer.
“Now, in that order, let us attend to business. At the end of this council, I shall invite the laity into this chamber to hear more of this great pilgrimage, and of what I expect from each man who submits his will to that of Holy Church in this worthy cause.”
The council held sessions each day from the 18th through the 28th. The decrees against investiture of the laity, simony and clerical marriage were renewed, and the Truce of God was advocated. King Philip was excommunicated for his bigamous marriage to Bertrada of Montfort. And the Bishop of Cambrai was also for simony. The primacy of Lyons was established over Sens and Rheims, et cetera and et cetera.
While this was going forward, word of the Pope’s forthcoming address had gone out, and by the 25th it was obvious that no such crowd of the laity as was gathering at Clermont would ever cram themselves into the council chambers. So workmen labored quickly to build a great platform in the open fields east of the town, so that from it Pope Urban might speak and be heard by all present.
Thus, on Tuesday the 27th of November, while the sun shone cheerfully, the Pope came out of the east gate of the city and mounted the platform and took his seat upon the papal throne.
The vendors in the crowds of onlookers hushed their cries only after Urban stood on his feet.
He began by rehearsing for the gathering somewhat of the business the council had been attending to, and with oratory he painted the picture of Christendom’s plight, and of the solutions and the disciplines which had been resolved upon.
The clergy and the lay people alike then praised the Lord Pope Urban and gave thanks to God for his wisdom and promised him that they would faithfully keep all his decrees.
Then he raised his hands until the people became quiet again.
“There is another tribulation, no less vexing and far more important. In another part of the world, Christianity faces far worse dangers and tyranny than here in Europe.
“Since, O sons of God, you have promised Him to keep peace amongst yourselves, and to faithfully sustain the rights of Holy Church more sincerely than before, there remains for you an urgent task, which, if you will show forth the good strength I know is in you, will bring upon you the blessings of God and rescue your brethren from a terrible yoke of bondage. I am speaking of the Christians of the East. You must hasten to their aid, for they have importuned at my throne these many times, begging that knights might come and deliver them from the Turks of Persia.
“The Turks, as you know, have advanced far into Romania and have even taken all the lands away from our brethren as far as the Arm of St George. They have defeated the Christians in seven times as many battles, killing and capturing them as slaves; they have destroyed churches and devastated the Kingdom of God. If you will allow them to continue, after our brethren have cried for your help, then all of God’s faithful people will be conquered.
“The Holy Places will continue to remain in the filthy and cruel hands of the infidels, who oppress our pilgrims and extort everything from them they possibly can; some are even killed in their pious journeys. And many are turned back by force after journeying so far to worship at the Holy Sepulcher, and in sorrow they have returned empty instead of filled. This must stop.
“Wherefore, with earnest prayers I, not I, but God, exhorts you as heralds of Christ to repeatedly urge good men everywhere, of all ranks whatsoever, knights as well as foot-soldiers, rich and poor, to hasten to exterminate this vile race from our lands and to bring military aid in time to our brethren the Christians of the East.
“I can only address those of you present: But through you, I proclaim this summons to those absent: Moreover, Christ commands it.
“For all those going thither there will be remission of sins if they come to the end of this fettered life while either marching by land or crossing the sea, or in doing battle against the pagans. This I grant to all who go, through the power vested in me by God.
“O! What a disgrace it is if such a race of despicable, degenerate and demon-enslaved warriors can overcome the faithful of Almighty God! O what reproaches shall be heaped upon you if you have not marched to help those who are counted like yourselves, resplendent in the faith of Christ!
“Let those who are accustomed to wantonly wage private wars against the faithful march against the infidels: And those who have long been robbers now be soldiers of Christ. Let those who have fought against brothers and relatives now go and in righteousness fight against barbarians. Let those who have been hirelings for a few pieces of silver now go and attain an eternal reward. Let those who have been exhausting their strength in debauchery now labor for a double glory. Yea, on the one hand will be the sad and the poor, if they heed not this call: and on the other hand will be the joyous and the wealthy: here, the enemies of the Lord, and here, His friends.
“Let nothing delay those who are going to be obedient in this thing. Let them settle their worldly affairs as soon as possible: collect monies, and when the winter is over, be ready and armed to come zealously forward to undertake the journey under the guidance of the Lord’s anointed.”
As he finished speaking, the air rang with cries of “Deus le volt!”1 The first man to come forward amid the cheering throng was the Bishop of Le Puy, Adhemar by name, and throwing himself down upon his knees he claimed in a loud voice that he would join the Pope’s army at once, if he would so allow.
Urban looked down from the platform very much pleased, and said that Le Puy could most certainly become a pilgrim, and he hoped that many more would follow his fine example. Thus, Adhemar became the first man to join the Great Pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
While he knelt there, hundreds of clergy, knights and other lay persons crowded forward to take the vows of pilgrims. Cloaks of crimson were torn into strips to fashion crosses, and soon the field was resplendent with the sight of many men wearing the cross of Christ upon their left shoulders.
Into the midst of this, Cardinal Gregory fell upon his knees and with his loud voice recited the Confiteor. Before long, most of the audience was echoing it after him.
“I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.”
Before he even realized what he had done, Brother Wilfred of St Évroult had thrown himself down beside the Cardinal and then accepted a rough cross upon the shoulder of his cappa clausa of black wool.
Abbot Roger is going to kill me, Wilfred thought ruefully. But there was no chance that he would renounce his oaths as a pilgrim.
Brother Wilfred had been traveling on abbey business, when he learned that Pope Urban was to hold council very nearby. And so, with every intention of being late back to St Évroult, Brother Wilfred had bent his course to Clermont and stayed throughout the entire proceedings. He was by nature a restless young man: born of a knightly family in the Duchy of Normandy, from Séez in the Hiémois, Wilfred had been early in his childhood given to the abbey as an oblate. But as he grew, his misdemeanors multiplied, until he was spending penitent time in solitary on pulse and water more often than he could enjoy the cloister. Abbot Roger loved Wilfred greatly and knew his repentance was always sincere. But the youthful monk truly did not have the stamina to remain quiescent for very long. Meditation he seemed to perform far better on his feet, walking or working, than on his knees.
For his own part, Wilfred, as the younger son in a large and not so rich knightly family, never had entertained any other career for himself from boyhood than that of a clergyman. He was convinced that his duty and destiny was in the cloister. But, to be honest, Wilfred had little affinity with writing; reading was often a bore — because his mind could not stay upon the written word, but wandered in his imagination to all manner of strange places, places sung of in ballad and chanson. It was an irony that he could not sing a note. The other brothers winced whenever he belted forth an alleluia in his discordant, though enthusiastic, tenor. It was dreadful; though he seemed puzzled at the observations of his brother monks, and loved to sing as he loved physical work. So, to bring an increase of the Spirit to the abbey, and at the same time make the best use of Brother Wilfred’s talents, Abbot Roger sent him out on abbey business whenever possible. An itinerant friar is far better than one disturbing the peace! He never lacked for conversation upon his road because he craved to listen to those with sad faces, weighed down with physical and spiritual burdens which are too heavy to bear alone. Wilfred’s round face and flashing, bright brown eyes and ready smile encouraged intimacy and confidence. He had the gift of charity, and made friends with a natural easiness that drew fellow travelers to him.
The Great Pilgrimage, as it was soon called, had fired Wilfred’s imagination. Here was a chance to do something truly worthy — that was his noble blood speaking. He could journey to Jerusalem and there perhaps he would even meet the Lord when He came in His glory — that was his apocalyptic training speaking: for all Christianity of those days was constantly assured from the pulpit that the end of the world was nigh, and that one had only to look around at the degeneracy on every hand to see proof that the signs of the times were being amply fulfilled. True, it should have occurred at the beginning of the first century of the new millennium. But Christ had delayed His coming, so the preaching explained, because the Holy Land was still unredeemed. Now the Pope had preached that knights and all sincere pilgrims of every rank or station should go to deliver the Christians of the East from the infidels. The crowds of listeners took that injunction to heart and interpreted this as the greatest sign so far that Christ’s Second Coming was even at the doors. Wilfred was carried away with religious fervor. It lasted for days, long enough for him to arrive first with the news at the abbey of St Évroult.
Abbot Roger heard the story of the Pope’s call to arms with feelings of skepticism. But he did not insult Brother Wilfred’s intelligence by questioning his veracity. And soon enough, all Wilfred’s glowing words were confirmed by other witnesses. Urban had indeed summoned forth the warriors of Christendom to travel into the East and deliver their fellow religionists from bondage. There seemed to be some little confusion in the various versions of the story of Urban’s impassioned speech. For instance, Abbot Roger could not determine if the Pope had indeed called the warriors of Europe to travel clear to Jerusalem and take it back from the Muslims: Or did he merely call upon them to deliver the Christians of the East, who would then raise the cross in their own behalf and retake the lands that had once been theirs?
That night, following his speech outside Clermont, Pope Urban took his evening repast with Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy. They were nearly alone. Aside from the servants of the table, and a silent Renaud who stood behind the papal couch, they were as alone as great princes can be.
After complimenting Urban on his fine speaking, Adhemar said:
“But the great difficulty we face now was shown to us today: There were many humble knights, clerics and laity, but no lords heard what you said because there were none present. If your messengers stir the souls of the great lords and they join this Pilgrimage, who will assume command over the others?”
“I noticed that too, that there were no lords here today. I had hoped that your lord, Count Raymond, would come in time.”
“You told the Count what you were going to say today?”
“In essence: I was his guest earlier this month on our way here. I told him the ultimate goal was to free the Christians of the East, and to liberate and hold the Holy Places. And that the warriors who undertake this grand emprise must take the cross first of all. Naturally he was interested as he is a pious man.” And here Urban gave a little knowing smile: “But also I could see that he would welcome this chance to set himself up as a greater man in the East than he is here. He will anticipate my appointing him as overall commander of the Pilgrimage, if he decides to join it. But I do not want any layman taking overall command. We will require a general, to command the army in the field of battle: But all the policy and strategy must be finalized by my legate. I will be in continual contact by papal messenger with him.”
“I understand completely, my Lord,” nodded Adhemar. He was a mature man, of sound wisdom and bated ambition. Thus, he did not press upon the Holy Father his desire to be installed as the legate of Rome over the Pilgrimage. But, in humility, he acknowledged no other more worthy candidate than himself to direct the masses of pilgrims he felt certain would come south in the spring. “It will require a constant vigilance,” he said: “to see that the knights and lords do not begin to set themselves up in the East as independent lords there.”
Urban waved a hand.
“Oh, I do not pretend for a moment, that these war-loving sons of the church will somehow become chaste, benevolent and utterly devoid of avarice: No, Bishop Adhemar: We must depend upon their natures remaining much the same there as here. But if some wish only to go out to fulfill their Christian duty, and then return home when all is accomplished, that would suit me very well. Those, however, who will choose to stay on in the East must either accept that they owe fealty to the Emperor or to me. It cannot be otherwise, or else anarchy will overtake you all. I have no objection to knights or great lords becoming the holders of lordships and fiefs in the East. If Jerusalem is to be held against the infidels, knights will require fiefs there just as surely as they do so here at home. And those who settle upon the lands of the Emperor must expect to serve him as their lord: I shall not require anything from them. Do you understand?”
“I do, Holy Father.”
“And can you take the dissident elements of such an army as we shall have and hold them together and make them understand the greater picture?”
“We understand each other,” said Adhemar. “I can instruct them and keep them to their duty. Is this what you wish for me to do?”
“As my legate, you shall have to. I will make it known that you stand in the councils of the Pilgrimage as the representative of Rome. No great lord shall have precedence above you.”
The next day, the last of the Council of Clermont, Pope Urban nominated Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy as his legate for the Great Pilgrimage. He was unanimously sustained by all the clergy present
Three days later, the day before he left Clermont, messengers from Count Raymond at Toulouse were received by the Pope. In the presence of Urban and Bishop Adhemar, Count Raymond’s proxy held his hands out and the Pope enclosed them in the ritual of fealty. Thus the Count of Toulouse became the first great lord to join the movement.
The enthusiasm he had generated was greater than even Urban had expected. His plans for the direction of the Great Pilgrimage were not fully formed. Except for the humbler men, no other great lord save Count Raymond had as yet joined the ranks. But everywhere the Pope went that winter preaching throughout France he found masses of pilgrims wearing the cross upon their shoulders. He had sent forth an uncontrolled army of self-appointed preachers — demagogues really — and they were fanning out across France and Lower Germany at a fantastic rate. Before the Pope was at Limoges to celebrate Christmastide, word of the Great Pilgrimage was already sounding in the ears of people in Flanders, Lorraine and England.
Urban held Mass in the cathedral of Limoges, and afterward he preached the Pilgrimage to a full house. Then he moved on to the valley of the Loire and gathered his council once again, in March, at Tours. The letter of King Philip was read, admitting his adultery, and informing the Pope that his younger brother Hugh of Vermandois would be raising an army of Franks for the Pilgrimage. Replies from a number of great lords to the Pope’s earlier letters were read also, showing that armies were being gathered under the command of such worthies as Duke Godfrey of Bouillon, his elder brother Count Eustace of Boulogne, Count Stephen of Blois and his brother-in-law Duke Robert of Normandy. The Great Pilgrimage was proven by these positive responses to be a fact, and Urban set to work in his council sessions discussing details for the management of the armies. There the assembled bishops and abbots established the rules by which the army of God should be governed:
In addition to the general remission of sins granted to those who joined the army of God, their worldly possessions left behind would be placed in the custody and protection of the Church until their return from the East.
Each member who took the cross should also make a vow to go to Jerusalem. If he turned back too soon or failed to set out at all after swearing to do so, he would be excommunicated. Clerics and monks were not to leave without the permission of their abbot or bishop. And the elderly and infirm were to be discouraged from attempting the expedition, as also women and children; and no one was to go without first seeking the advice of his spiritual advisor.
It was not to be a war of mere conquest: They were not to consider themselves as mercenaries of the Greek Emperor, but rather his allies in a holy cause. But in all towns he held claim to, even those retaken from the infidels, the pilgrims were to respect the rights and possessions of the Christians of the East, and restore to them what was once theirs.
Everyone should be ready to depart by the 15th of August. The armies were to assemble at Constantinople.
One Sunday, Urban held a meeting similar to the first open-air gathering at Clermont. From an improvised platform set up in a meadow beside the Loire, he preached a long and impassioned sermon, exhorting his hearers to repent and go on the Pilgrimage. There were a number of great lords present, including the Viscount of the Hiémois, who returned shortly thereafter and let it be known that he was departing from Montgomery with the Duke of Normandy, Robert Curthose.
Of course, Brother Wilfred was heartened with this news, because Abbot Roger was looking down his very long nose, saying that he thought the reaction of the humble masses lent an air of fanatical idiocy to the whole enterprise.
“Did you hear about Peter the Hermit’s latest followers to join his army?” the Abbot asked his assembled monks at supper one evening in early June. “Some of Christ’s poor — lacking not only the things of this world, but also intelligence — have managed to find their way to Father Godescal’s camp by following the random movements of an inspired goose! And by such deplorable leadership God is supposed to deliver the Holy Sepulcher?”
Following their Abbot’s lead, several other monks broke with the standard rule of silence imposed at mealtimes and made further observations about this so-called Pilgrimage of the Pope’s:
“Peter’s disciples are not very worthy men to represent His Holiness: I knew that Father Godescal when he was a priest in Lower Lorraine, and now he is nothing but an unfrocked excommunicate, but he still pretends to be a member of the clergy.”
“Yes. But he at least is not guilty of murder. Count Emich of Leisingen has already started to massacre the Jews of the Rhine, if what I heard in the borough this morning is true: They say that the Jews in Cologne were all burnt to death in their synagogue by Emich’s men. And now they have even reached Metz and slaughtered the Jews there.”
“That can’t be right,” said another: “Emich’s horde is already in Bavaria.”
“Well the Jews in Metz are dead just the same, and it was done by these fanatics who claim to be following Peter the Hermit.”
“They are very late then, because by now Peter and his followers must be in Romania.”
“Well, good Normans will be following our own Duke on the Great Pilgrimage, not some German fanatic,” put in Brother Wilfred. “Pope Urban is not responsible for the wickedness other men do in his name.”
“Brothers, let’s keep the talk down,” said Abbot Roger gently. “I only made comment, so that in our prayers and meditations we might each one of us implore God’s Holy Mother to intercede in behalf of those misguided souls who have embarked upon the wrong path. What will be the end of it only God can know. But we must strive for charitable feelings towards those who commit rapine and murder in the name of Holy Church. Without our prayers and the intercession of all the Saints, their souls are assuredly lost.”
But now that the Duke and many of his magnates, such as their own Viscount Philip de Montgomery, were taking the cross, Abbot Roger had to reconsider his rigid stand.
“There must be something to Urban’s vision after all,” he said reluctantly to Brother Wilfred. “If Curthose gets a sizeable army together, of real knights, monks and priests and not just a band of discontented brigands, then I will no longer object to your going.”
Only two other monks of St Évroult planned to leave the abbey for the East: an older man, a former blacksmith originally from Picardy who went by the name of Guigner; and another youthful monk named Ordmer, from Montgomery, whose father was a household knight to Viscount Philip. Guigner had the placid face of a man whose life is nearly finished, and whose past is a closed book: He planned to die in the East. While Ordmer, similarly to Wilfred, was a younger son of a large family, but even his elder brothers were no better off, because their father was landless. Ordmer had shied away from the profession of arms, not wishing to be a mere soldier like his sire and siblings; and so a career in the church had been the only other option. He was in his mid twenties, a few years older than Wilfred, but of a somewhat spindly constitution and very myopic. Of the three monks he was losing to the Great Pilgrimage, Abbot Roger silently mourned only Wilfred.
But then in the middle of June some appalling news reached the abbey: The armies under the leadership of Godescal and Emich had entered Hungary and run into trouble with King Coloman. In the course of his subduing the unruly pilgrims, most of them had been massacred, and the rest had returned to Germany and dispersed to their homes in violation of their pilgrim’s oaths.
Abbot Roger changed his mind:
“I won’t have you heading off to the East across hundreds of miles of trackless wilderness, hounded and attacked by hostile Hungarians. It would be a suicidal venture at best. No, don’t try and argue with me: Urban is just going to have to be satisfied with those who have already gone.” It was obvious that Abbot Roger felt his views would now be shared generally by everyone in Normandy.
Silently, his monks bowed their heads in disappointment and went about their duties. But Wilfred felt the loss of his dream most keenly. And such was his restlessness that he had about decided to defy Abbot Roger’s refusal and skip off to the Duke’s army anyway when he eventually set out.
After that, however, the formidable armies of Duke Godfrey of Lower Lorraine and his brothers Count Eustace of Boulogne, and Baldwin, along with many Lotharingians, such as their cousin Baldwin of Le Bourg, and yet another Baldwin the Count of Hainault, and many other forces, managed to pass safely through King Coloman’s territory and entered the Greek Empire without undue mishap. And Hugh the King’s brother had marched away south with his small army to take ship from Italy.
Wilfred went to Abbot Roger and used this encouraging news to try and get him to change his mind.
“And the Duke has not appealed for a commutation of his pilgrim’s oath,” Wilfred said. “He is still collecting money, arms, provisions and followers. Brother Ordmer says that Viscount Philip is still planning to go with the Duke. Even Bishop Odo of Bayeux is going to accompany his nephew.”
But Abbot Roger would not be swayed, until it became generally known that Curthose was not planning to go along the eastern rout followed by the Germans; but instead the Normans — in company with the Duke’s cousin Count Robert of Flanders, and his brother-in-law Count Stephen of Blois — were going to follow Hugh of Vermandois’ route south into Italy and from there take ship over to Romania. They would therefore be in the lands of friends and allies and would pass through the dominions of Pope Urban himself, before finally embarking directly to the Empire of the East.
“That is a much safer and more intelligent — albeit longer — route than heading directly east,” Abbot Roger admitted. “And the harvest has been exceedingly plentiful this year, so you should have enough to eat all the way down to Apulia. Perhaps it is God’s will after all.” And he withdrew his objections to their going once more.
Brother Wilfred waited in a dither, afraid that at any moment Abbot Roger would change his mind again for some reason, thus forcing Wilfred into disobedience in order to go. September came, and the dilatory Duke Robert Curthose seemed incapable of setting forth. His army was slowly gathered under his lackadaisical guidance, and Count Robert of Flanders threatened to set out alone if the Normans were not finally ready by the end of the month. (Count Stephen seemed not to care at all when they might finally leave, if one were to judge by the lack of news from Blois.) The single most serious obstacle to Curthose setting out was his war with his brother, King William of England. But Pope Urban finally managed a reconciliation between them, before returning at last to Italy, exhausted by all his efforts at church reform and preaching up the Pilgrimage.
Duke Robert secured enough money to equip a formidable army by mortgaging his duchy to his brother for 10,000 silver marks, and then they were on their way at last. It was the beginning of October.
From the borough of St Évroult a number of humble craftsmen had taken the cross. Some were going to the East with their families: Pope Urban’s injunction that the army of God be attended only by those combat worthy and hale had been largely ignored.
The morning of their departure, Brother Wilfred went into the borough of St Évroult with Brothers Guigner and Ordmer, to the central market square, where the pilgrims from St Évroult were assembling under the leadership and protection of Sir William de Merton, a retired Devonshire knight who had left the service of Normandy to serve at the abbey. Sir William was well past his prime. But his back was still straight and his grey eye keen. He had been a very young knight when he had fought his first field at Hastings under the command of Bishop Odo of Bayeux. Upon the death of the Conqueror, he had renounced further military ambitions and taken the limited vows of a lay brother at St Évroult: In penance for a number of past misdeeds, Abbot Roger employed Sir William as one of a small guard over the abbey. He had not quite gotten to the point of becoming monk, when Urban’s appeal had reached them and he had changed his mind altogether, deciding instead that dying for Christ with his sword in hand was the very thing for him. Abbot Roger was willing enough to let such a mature man make up his own mind.
While Sir William sat his warhorse to one side, waiting patiently and silently for the pilgrims of St Évroult Borough to get into line with their baggage, the three monks moved amongst those who were to depart, helping where they could to manage balky animals or load provisions onto the carts and sumpter beasts.
The wives and children of the departing men were most of them distraught, now that the actual moment of leave-taking was upon them all. Their anguish played upon one another’s emotions, until there was much lamentation and holding up of aprons to noses and streaming eyes. Everywhere, you could see wives and daughters clinging with one last embrace to brothers and fathers and husbands.
Gautier, a tanner, was standing in the doorway to his house close to where Wilfred was waiting. Gautier’s young wife was balancing their baby son on one large hip, while she pulled her husband to her with her free hand. Gautier maintained a stolid expression, determined to remain strong in the presence of his wife’s weakness.
“But when shall you return, beloved?” she asked through her tears. “Will I ever see you again, Gautier, will any of us see you again?”
“Yes, wife,” he said gruffly, with an indulgent smile. “I have already promised you that I will come back, God willing, after my pilgrim’s vows have all been fulfilled at the Holy Sepulcher. ‘We shall worship in the place where His feet have stood’,” he quoted. “It is a long march, to be sure, but it has been made by many before now. And most have returned again. I don’t know how long it might be. But do not expect me home before two years.”
Another husband was kissing the wife of his youth goodbye tenderly. Their children were many of them fairly grown, and one son was to accompany Ivo the innkeeper to the East. Mother and wife kept embracing husband and son and sighing as though her heart was being torn from her breast. Finally, Hugh fitz Ivo lost his composure enough to bury his head in his mother’s ample bosom and weep.
“Mama, stop it, please, you are only making all of this harder for me. I will never turn back, now that the Pope has called us to Jerusalem. Please dry your eyes and be glad.”
“Dearest wife,” said the grieving former innkeeper, now wearing the cloak and cross of a pilgrim beside his youthful son: “I commend you and the children who remain here at home to God. And I promise you: I shall return to you again.”
But Ivo the innkeeper’s wife only wept the more to hear him say it, and turning away at last all but swooned in the arms of her tearful daughters. Ivo and Hugh looked at each other and then went away from their house, not looking back. Wilfred could see that the set expressions father and son adopted hid the pity each felt, but they would weep no more.
“In all my days,” said Brother Guigner to his fellow monks: “I have never seen nor heard of anything like this. Look at how many of us are leaving. St Évroult will be a thinly peopled place after today. ‘All the nations whom Thou hast made shall come and worship before Thee, O Lord’,” he said, quoting the Psalm.
At last, all was ready, or at least Sir William announced that they would set forth. The ragged column began to stream south behind his mounted figure and east upon the road toward Chartres. Many family members and friends kept pace with their departing loved ones for miles that first day away. But one by one, they stopped and returned with many backward glances. There was much waving in farewell, and calling out of blessings and well-wishing, until the trees and hills hid those departing from the sight of those who remained behind.
On the road, Sir William was joined by several young knights from the countryside, younger sons and landless, who saw in this expedition a chance at once for pious adventure and possible advancement of their careers in the East. They introduced themselves one by one to the middle-aged veteran of Hastings, accepting his leadership for the nonce.
As the folk of St Évroult merged upon the road into the larger bands led by the lords, the knights were all commanded by Viscount Philip — and later by the Duke — to ride in a single body. The great lords rode in the van with the other fully-armed knights, followed by the lesser mounted knights who had older armor from the previous generation, which only covered their limbs down to the knee and elbow. While they marched through friendly territory, however, none wore their armor, but kept it rolled up behind the saddle. Helms were hung by the chin straps from the saddle bows, and on the other side hung their immensely long, kite-shaped shields, unless these were carried across the back on a guige. Lances flying pennons of red, yellow, green and blue were carried by squires or grooms. But the knights wore their finest tunics and chausses and carried their broadswords always scabbarded on their hips. After the cavalry followed the foot: first the spearmen and then the crossbow-men. And always far to the rear came the camp, the noncombatant oldsters, women and children of the warriors who were taking their families, and of course the clerics. It was a huge mob that Wilfred found himself a part of. He shouldered his pilgrim’s staff and bundle of worldly goods with a cheerful countenance and marched the ten to twenty miles of each day without difficulty. He would range up and down the column of foot, chariots, wagons, carts and baggage animals which slogged in the dusty wake of the mounted knights, always looking for someone to talk to, some interesting new face he had not met. As they wended their way across northern France, many of the villagers and townsmen they saw were eager to donate food and clothing to the pilgrims marching out with the army of God. Their heroic sacrifice of home, hearth, loved ones and material possessions had touched those who had not found the courage or conviction to join them; they fought guilty consciences, and made up for it by helping the army of God on their way.
As the days spun out, and the road behind them lengthened, each youthful knight who had begun the ride with Sir William found more likely possibilities elsewhere and joined themselves to either the Viscount or the Count of Blois or the Duke himself. By the time the pilgrims of Normandy had collected at Pontarlier, at the far eastern edge of Burgundy, only one other knight camped with Sir William and the folk of St Évroult each evening, a well-formed, young man named Hugh de Payens. His was a silent and unreadable face, hard to get to know. Even Brother Wilfred admitted to himself after several attempts to converse with the taciturn de Payens that the knight was incapable of personal expression; but there was that light in his blue eyes which spoke of constant reflection and steadiness. The very fact that he remained in the camp with Sir William, and did not swear vassalage to a lord, showed a kindred spirit to the older knight’s selfless sacrifice in behalf of the common pilgrims from St Évroult. Brother Wilfred was impressed, but he kept his feelings to himself, deeming that de Payens would not appreciate a public praising of his character.
Once the pilgrims were gathered into one body, the Duke’s largess for his people was both expected and extended: Each evening his kitchens provided supper for every mouth that wore a cross upon a cloak. The great lords ate often in the Duke’s pavilion as his guests. And sometimes the flaps were drawn up to take the fresh evening air, so that the masses of common pilgrims eating crouched upon the ground could see Curthose and Bishop Odo of Bayeux, and their guests the leaders of the North French army, Count Stephen of Blois and Count Robert of Flanders, and the most eminent of their retainers, the counts, viscounts and barons. Brother Wilfred and the other folk of St Évroult could see their lord the Viscount Philip de Montgomery, in company with Mortagne, St Valery, St Pol, Gournay and the exiled Earl Ralph of Norfolk, and at least a score of other magnates. Of course, Wilfred could not guess, beyond Count Stephen and Count Robert, whose face might belong to which name, so in his curiosity he wandered over to where a small group of clergy from Blois was seated beside a walnut tree. Wilfred introduced himself to a handsome, dark-haired cleric who appeared to be around thirty years of age.
“Brother Fulcher, from Chartres,” he said, and held out his hand.
“Could you help me attach faces to some names?” asked Wilfred.
Brother Fulcher was happy to oblige, and for the next hour they exchanged gossip pleasantly concerning the short-comings and virtues of their princes. At the head of that list was the reason why Odo of Bayeux should decide so late in life to leave his bishopric and take the cross with his rather incompetent, though valiant, nephew Curthose. Wilfred informed his new friend that it was because Odo had never gotten along with King William; that he in fact had been banished from England for supporting the royal claims of Curthose, and had lost all his lands in Kent there as the result. With Curthose departing for the East, Bishop Odo’s presence alone in Normandy could prove dangerous to himself. Besides that, the old yarn about how Odo had once aspired to the papacy was still common gossip, and many pilgrims thought he might settle for some less eminent though lucrative post at the Pope’s hand if he joined himself to the Pilgrimage.
“And Earl Ralph has a similar problem,” said Wilfred. “He has been living with his mother in Brittany, because Norfolk escheated to the crown after Earl Ralph’s failed rebellion against the Old King.2 He has no prospects at home, and this expedition might answer his needs very well.”
“It seems that a lot of knights and lords are going for that reason,” observed Fulcher with an ironic smile. “I think Urban’s army of God is more like the migrations of antiquity. The harvests have all been meager or bad for the last ten years — with the single exception of this year’s harvest — and folk everywhere are fed up with life here. The Greek Emperor is rumored to be rolling in gold, and the Holy Land itself is supposed to be a rich place too. Life there is easy, because the climate is gentle and you can harvest two and sometimes three crops per year.”
“This Pilgrimage does seem to have attracted the dissatisfied in great numbers,” admitted Wilfred. “But there are far more pilgrims who are going because we truly value the promises of the Holy Father. That is why I am going, at least mainly: Of course, I have to be honest and admit to you that I find the whole idea of this Pilgrimage very adventurous too. I have always wanted to see Jerusalem and worship there. But I have no other ambition for joining this Pilgrimage than to do God’s will the best I know how.”
“Yes,” Fulcher nodded solemnly. “I, too, have desired to travel, to see the world. But my father devoted me to the church at an early age. So, being an obedient son, I have learned my vocation in life well and have no reason to complain. But this call from the Pope I simply could not pass up. I had already severed myself from service in the household of my Lord Stephen, as it did not look at the time as though he would be going. But since he has in fact come, I still attend upon his occasional needs for a scrivener — he is an avid composer of letters to his wife; he sends Adela at least one a week. But how he hopes to keep that up, once we pass into Romania, we can only wait and see.”
Then Fulcher shifted tracks abruptly, and said: “We are making history right now. I plan to write all of our experiences down some day in a gesta. In the meanwhile, I have started already taking notes.” He reached down beside himself and held up a parchment roll. Beside it was a small cherry wood box, which, when he opened it, revealed a set of pens, nib knife, ink and sand. There were pencils too.
“That is a fine idea,” said Wilfred without much interest. His own handwriting was rusty from lack of diligence, and his mind bent to the physical and emotional, not so much toward the scholarly. He returned at once to the topic of Blois:
“You said that Count Stephen was not at first going to go on the Pilgrimage: What then changed his mind?”
Fulcher noted the lack of interest and laid his roll down. He was used to others not having any appreciation for his ambition toward becoming a great historian. It was a lonely post, not understood really by very many souls in this world. But someone had to do it, or else knowledge of the truth would never be passed down to posterity. In his heart, Fulcher felt certain that this Great Pilgrimage was going to prove itself one of history’s epics. But he left his ideas unspoken.
“Of course it was the Countess Adela who decided that Stephen should join the Pilgrimage,” said Brother Fulcher. “She rules in the family, everyone knows that. Blois’ prosperity we owe to her. That woman has a head for business, and a husband who will never exert himself to put his wife in her place. If she could have done so without creating scandal, Adela would have donned armor and ridden beside our Count. But with him gone, now she can rule as the official regent for Blois. I wager that she is the happiest of women. Stephen is no hero, so he is out of his element in this army. But Adela is definitely left in hers. If he never returns from the East, she will not mourn her lot too much, I trow.”