PREPARATIONS.
Next Sunday a large number of people from some miles round were gathered
on the green at Evesham, to hear Father Francis preach on the holy
sepulcher. The forest men in their green jerkins mingled with the crowd,
and a look of attention and seriousness was on the faces of all, for the
news of the loss of the holy sepulcher had really exercised a great
effect upon the minds of the people in England as elsewhere.
Those were the days of pilgrimage to holy places, when the belief in the
sanctity of places and things was overwhelming, and when men believed
that a journey to the holy shrines was sufficient to procure for them a
pardon for all their misdeeds. The very word "infidel" in those days was
full of horror, and the thought that the holy places of the Christians
were in the hands of Moslems affected all Christians throughout Europe
with a feeling of shame as well as of grief.
Among the crowd were many of the Norman retainers from the castle and
from many of the holds around, and several knights with the ladies of
their family stood a little apart from the edge of the gathering; for
it was known that Father Francis would not be alone, but that he would
be accompanied by a holy friar who had returned from the East, and who
could tell of the cruelties which the Christians had suffered at the
hands of the Saracens.
Father Francis, at ordinary times a tranquil preacher, was moved beyond
himself by the theme on which he was holding forth. He did not attempt
to hide from those who stood around that the task to be undertaken was
one of grievous peril and trial; that disease and heat, hunger and
thirst, must be dared, as well as the sword of the infidel. But he spoke
of the grand nature of the work, of the humiliation to Christians, of
the desecration of the shrines, and of the glory which awaited those who
joined the Crusade, whether they lived or whether they died in the Holy
Land.
His words had a strong effect upon the simple people who listened to
him, but the feelings so aroused were as naught to the enthusiasm which
greeted the address of the friar.
Meager and pale, with a worn, anxious face as one who had suffered much,
the friar, holding aloft two pieces of wood from the Mount of Olives
tied together in the form of a cross, harangued the crowd. His words
poured forth in a fiery stream, kindling the hearts, and stirring at
once the devotion and the anger of his listeners.
He told of the holy places, he spoke of the scenes of Holy Writ, which
had there been enacted; and then he depicted the men who had died for
them. He told of the knights and men-at-arms, each of whom proved
himself again and again a match for a score of infidels. He spoke of the
holy women, who, fearlessly and bravely, as the knights themselves, had
borne their share in the horrors of the siege and in the terrible times
which had preceded it.
He told them that this misfortune had befallen Christianity because of
the lukewarmness which had come upon them.
"What profited it," he asked, "if a few knights who remained to defend
the holy sepulcher were heroes? A few heroes cannot withstand an army.
If Christendom after making a mighty effort to capture the holy
sepulcher had not fallen away, the conquest which had been made with so
vast an expenditure of blood would not have been lost. This is a work in
which no mere passing fervor will avail; bravery at first, endurance
afterward, are needed. Many men must determine not only to assist to
wrest the holy sepulcher from the hands of the infidels, but to give
their lives, so long as they might last, to retaining it. It is scarce
to be expected that men with wives and families will take a view like
this, indeed it is not to be desired. But there are single men, men of
no ties, who can devote their whole lives, as did the Knights of the
Orders of the Cross, to this great object. When their life has come to
an end doubtless others will take up the banner that their hands can no
longer hold. But for life it is, indeed, that many of humble as well as
of princely class must bind themselves to take and defend to death the
holy sepulcher."
So, gradually raising the tone of his speech, the friar proceeded; until
at length by his intense earnestness, his wild gesticulations, his
impassioned words, he drew the whole of his listeners along with him;
and when he ceased, a mighty shout of "To the Holy Land!" burst from his
hearers.
Falling upon their knees the crowd begged of him to give them the sign
of the cross, and to bestow his blessing upon their swords, and upon
their efforts.
Father Francis had prepared, in contemplation of such a movement, a
large number of small white crosses of cloth. These he and the friar now
fastened to the shoulders of the men as they crowded up to receive it,
holding their hands aloft, kissing the cross that the friar extended to
them, and swearing to give their lives, if need be, to rescue the holy
shrines from the infidel.
When all had received the holy symbol, Father Francis again ascended the
bank from which they had addressed the crowd:
"Now go to your homes, my sons," he said. "Think of the oath that you
have taken, and of the course that lies open to you when the time comes.
When King Richard is prepared to start, then will you be called upon to
fulfill your vows. It may be that all who have sworn may not be called
upon to go. It needs that the land here should be tilled, it needs that
there should be protectors for the women and children, it needs that
this England of ours should flourish, and we cannot give all her sons,
however willing they might be to take the cross. But the willingness
which you will, I am sure, show to go if needs be, and to redeem your
vows, will be sufficient. Some must go and some must stay; these are
matters to be decided hereafter; for the time let us separate; you will
hear when the hour for action arrives."
A fortnight later the Earl of Evesham, who had been on a long journey to
London, returned with full authority to raise and organize a force as
his contingent to the holy wars.
All was now bustle and activity in the castle. Father Francis informed
him of the willingness of such of the forest men as he deemed fit to
enlist under his banner; and the earl was much gratified at finding that
the ranks of heavily-armed retainers whom he would take with him were to
be swollen by the addition of so useful a contingent as that of one
hundred skillful archers.
Cuthbert was not long in asking for an interview with the earl.
He had indeed great difficulty in persuading Dame Editha that he was old
enough to share in the fatigues of so great an expedition, but he had
Father Francis on his side; and between the influence of her confessor,
and the importunities of her son, the opposition of the good lady fell
to the ground.
Cuthbert was already, for his age, well trained to arms. Many of the old
soldiers at the castle who had known and loved his father had been ever
ready to give lessons in the use of arms to Cuthbert, who was
enthusiastic in his desire to prove as good a knight as his father had
been. His friends, the outlaws, had taught him the use of the bow and of
the quarterstaff; and Cuthbert, strong and well-built for his age, and
having little to do save to wield the sword and the bow, had attained a
very considerable amount of skill with each.
He had too, which was unusual, a certain amount of book learning,
although this, true to say, had not been acquired so cheerfully or
willingly as the skill at arms. Father Francis had, however, taught him
to read and to write--accomplishments which were at that time rare,
except in the cloister. In those days if a knight had a firm seat in his
saddle, a strong arm, a keen eye, and high courage, it was thought to be
of little matter whether he could or could not do more than make his
mark on the parchment. The whole life of the young was given to
acquiring skill in arms; and unless intended for the convent, any idea
of education would in the great majority of cases have been considered
as preposterous.
To do Cuthbert justice, he had protested with all his might against the
proposition of Father Francis to his mother to teach him some clerkly
knowledge. He had yielded most unwillingly at last to her entreaties,
backed as they were by the sound arguments and good sense of Father
Francis.
The Earl of Evesham received Cuthbert's application very graciously.
"Certainly, Cuthbert," he said, "you shall accompany me; first, on
account of my promise to you; secondly, because from the readiness you
displayed both in the matter of my daughter and of the attack on
Wortham, you will be a notable aid and addition to my party; thirdly,
from my friendship for your father and Dame Editha."
This point being settled, Cuthbert at once assumed his new duties. There
was plenty for him to do--to see that the orders of the earl were
properly carried out; to bear messages to the knights who followed the
earl's fortunes, at their various holds; to stand by and watch the
armorers at work, and the preparation of the stores of arms and missiles
which would be necessary for the expedition.
Sometimes he would go round to summon the tenants of the various farms
and lands, who held from the earl, to come to the castle; and here Sir
Walter would, as far as might be without oppression, beg of them to
contribute largely to the expedition.
In these appeals he was in no slight way assisted by Father Francis, who
pointed out loudly to the people that those who stayed behind were bound
to make as much sacrifice of their worldly goods as those who went to
the war might make of their lives. Life and land are alike at the
service of God. Could the land be sold, it would be a good deed to sell
it; but as this could not be, they should at least sell all that they
could, and pledge their property if they could find lenders, in order to
contribute to the needs of their lord, and the fitting out of this great
enterprise.
The preparations were at last complete, and a gallant band gathered at
the castle ready for starting. It consisted of some two hundred
men-at-arms led by six knights, and of one hundred bowmen dressed in
Lincoln green, with quilted jerkins to keep out the arrows of the enemy.
All the country from around gathered to see the start. Dame Editha was
there, and by her side stood the earl's little daughter. The earl
himself was in armor, and beside him rode Cuthbert in the gay attire of
a page.
Just at that moment, however, his face did not agree with his costume,
for although he strove his best to look bright and smiling, it was a
hard task to prevent the tears from filling his eyes at his departure
from his mother. The good lady cried unrestrainedly, and Margaret joined
in her tears. The people who had gathered round cheered lustily; the
trumpets blew a gay fanfaronade, and the squire threw to the wind the
earl's colors.
It was no mere pleasure trip on which they were starting, for all knew
that, of the preceding Crusades, not one in ten of those who had gone so
gladly forth had ever returned.
It must not be supposed that the whole of those present were animated by
any strong religious feeling. No doubt there existed a desire, which was
carefully fanned by the preaching of the priests and monks, to rescue
the holy sepulcher from the hands of the Saracens; but a far stronger
feeling was to be found in the warlike nature of the people in those
days. Knights, men-at-arms, and indeed men of all ranks were full of a
combative spirit. Life in the castle and hut was alike dull and
monotonous, and the excitement of war and adventure was greatly looked
for, both as a means of obtaining glory and booty, and for the change
they afforded to the dreary monotony of life.
There is little to tell of the journey of the Earl of Evesham's band
through England to Southampton, at which place they took ship and
crossed to France--or rather to Normandy, for in those days Normandy was
regarded, as indeed it formed, a part of England.
Cuthbert, as was natural to his age, was full of delight at all the
varying scenes through which they passed. The towns were to him an
especial source of wonder, for he had never visited any other than that
of Worcester, to which he had once or twice been taken on occasions of
high festival. Havre was in those days an important place, and being the
landing-place of a great portion of the English bands, it was full of
bustle and excitement. Every day ships brought in nobles and their
followings.
The King of England was already in Normandy hastening the preparations,
and each band, as it landed, marched down to the meeting-place on the
plains of Vezelay. Already they began to experience a taste of the
hardships which they were to endure.
In those days there was no regular supply train for an army, but each
division or band supported itself by purchase or pillage, as the case
might be, from the surrounding country.
As the English troops were marching through a friendly country, pillage
was of course strictly forbidden; but while many of the leaders paid for
all they had, it must be owned that among the smaller leaders were many
who took anything that they required with or without payment.
The country was eaten up.
The population in those days was sparse, and the movement of so large a
number of men along a certain route completely exhausted all the
resources of the inhabitants; and although willing to pay for all that
his men required, the Earl of Evesham had frequently to lie down on the
turf supperless himself.
"If this is the case now," he said to Cuthbert, "what will it be after
we have joined the French army? Methinks whatever we may do if we reach
the Holy Land, that we have a fair chance of being starved before we
sail."
After a long succession of marches they arrived in sight of the great
camp at Vezelay. It was indeed rather a canvas town than a camp. Here
were gathered nearly one hundred thousand men, a vast host at any time,
but in those days far greater in proportion to the strength of the
countries than at present. The tents of the leaders, nobles, and other
knights and gentlemen rose in regular lines, forming streets and
squares.
The great mass of troops, however, were contented to sleep in the open
air; indeed the difficulties of carriage were so great that it was only
the leaders who could carry with them their canvas abodes. Before each
tent stood the lance and colors of its owner, and side by side in the
center of the camp stood the royal pavilions of Philip of France and
Richard of England, round which could be seen the gonfalons of all the
nobles of Western Europe.
Nothing could be gayer than the aspect of this camp as the party rode
into it. They were rather late, and the great body of the host were
already assembled.
Cuthbert gazed with delight at the varied colors, the gay dresses, the
martial knights, and the air of discipline and order which reigned
everywhere.
This was indeed war in its most picturesque form, a form which, as far
as beauty is concerned, has been altogether altered, and indeed
destroyed, by modern arms.
In those days individual prowess and bravery went for everything. A
handful of armored knights were a match for thousands of footmen, and
battles were decided as much by the prowess and bravery of the leader
and his immediate following as by that of the great mass of the army.
The earl had the day before sent on a messenger to state that he was
coming, and as the party entered the camp they were met by a squire of
the camp-marshal, who conducted them to the position allotted to them.
The earl's tent was soon erected, with four or five grouped around it
for his knights, one being set aside for his squires and pages.
When this was done Cuthbert strolled away to look at the varied sights
of the camp. A military officer in these days would be scandalized at
the scenes which were going on, but the strict, hard military discipline
of modern times was then absolutely unknown.
A camp was a moving town, and to it flocked the country people with
their goods; smiths and armorers erected their forges; minstrels and
troubadours flocked in to sing of former battles, and to raise the
spirits of the soldiers by merry lays of love and war; simple countrymen
and women came in to bring their presents of fowls or cakes to their
friends in camp; knights rode to and fro on their gayly caparisoned
horses through the crowd; the newly-raised levies, in many cases
composed of woodmen and peasants who had not in the course of their
lives wandered a league from their birthplaces, gaped in unaffected
wonder at the sights around them; while last, but by no means least, the
maidens and good wives of the neighborhood, fond then as now of brave
men and gay dresses, thronged the streets of the camp, and joined in,
and were the cause of, merry laughter and jest.
Here and there, a little apart from the main stream of traffic, the
minstrels would take up their position, and playing a gay air, the
soldier lads and lasses would fall to and foot it merrily to the
strains. Sometimes there would be a break in the gayety, and loud
shouts, and perhaps fierce oaths, would rise. Then the maidens would fly
like startled fawns, and men hasten to the spot; though the quarrel
might be purely a private one, yet should it happen between the
retainers of two nobles, the friends of each would be sure to strike in,
and serious frays would arise before the marshal of the camp with his
posse could arrive to interfere. Sometimes, indeed, these quarrels
became so serious and desperate that alliances were broken up and great
intentions frustrated by the quarrels of the soldiery.
Here and there, on elevated platforms, or even on the top of a pile of
tubs, were friars occupied in haranguing the soldiers, and in inspiring
them with enthusiasm for the cause upon which they were embarked. The
conduct of their listeners showed easily enough the motives which had
brought them to war. Some stood with clasped hands and eager eyes,
listening to the exhortations of the priests, and ready, as might be
seen from their earnest gaze, to suffer martyrdom in the cause. More,
however, stood indifferently round, or, after listening to a few words,
walked on with a laugh or a scoff; indeed, preaching had already done
all that lay in its power. All those who could be moved by exhortations
of this kind were there, and upon the rest the discourses and sermons
were thrown away.
Several times in the course of his stroll round the camp Cuthbert
observed the beginnings of quarrels, which were in each case only
checked by the intervention of some knight or other person in authority
coming past, and he observed that these in every instance occurred
between men of the English and those of the French army.
Between the Saxon contingent of King Richard's army and the French
soldiers there could indeed be no quarrel, for the Saxons understood no
word of their language; but with the Normans the case was different, for
the Norman-French, which was spoken by all the nobles and their
retainers in Britain, was as nearly as possible the same as that in use
in France.
It seemed, however, to Cuthbert, watching narrowly what was going on,
that there existed by no means a good feeling between the men of the
different armies; and he thought that this divergence so early in the
campaign boded but little good for the final success of the expedition.
When he returned to the tent the earl questioned him as to what he had
seen, and Cuthbert frankly acknowledged that it appeared to him that the
feeling between the men of the two armies was not good.
"I have been," the earl said, "to the royal camp, and from what I hear,
Cuthbert, methinks that there is reason for what you say. King Richard
is the most loyal and gallant of kings, but he is haughty and hasty in
speech. The Normans, too, have been somewhat accustomed to conquer our
neighbors, and it may well be that the chivalry of France love us not.
However, it must be hoped that this feeling will die away, and that we
shall emulate each other only in our deeds on the battlefield."