Crusade (15 page)

Instead, she was one of many hundreds of children standing without purpose or direction on the quayside. Suddenly, she missed Gregor fiercely. The others did not come from her village, would not know the way home, even if they wanted to help. And they were all preoccupied with their own worries. What was she to do now, alone in this big city? She could never make the long trip home without her brother, without the crowds of singing Crusaders, without the generous gifts of food and lodging provided by pious villagers along the way. Georgette slumped to the ground and sobbed.

All for naught, all for naught.
Robert’s adventure was over, with nothing to show for it, except churning questions about faith and the evil of man. Robert’s legs were aching, yet he would not sit down. That would be admitting that it was all for naught. The false prophet had deluded his flock and deserted them, but no earthly punishment would befall him. Only after his death would he be called to account. And now Robert was alone in a strange city, far from the abbey, his only home, where he felt he no longer belonged.

No, not alone. Robert’s eyes widened as he saw a young girl waving a white cloth frantically at the departing boats. It was the girl who had revived his wilting faith with her perfect devotion to God when her brother took sick and died. It was the girl he could not bear to see violated by Stephen’s lust; the one he had dared to save. She too had been rejected. She too was alone in Marseilles. No, not alone.

He watched as Georgette sat on the wharf and wept, longing to comfort her but hesitant. The new confidence he had felt as a leading member of the Crusade had fled and he was consumed with shyness. He took a deep breath, picked up his little sack and walked close to Georgette, sitting down silently behind her until she finished with her tears.

When Georgette’s sobs quieted, she dried her swollen eyes with her apron. Most of the crowd had disappeared, gone she knew not where. The youngsters clustering in a few small groups around the harbour seemed as lost as she did, and none of them were familiar to her. Should she try to attach herself to one of the groups? She could not take the risk of being left alone on the road if the group split in different directions once they reached central France. What if the older boys thought they could take liberties with her in her distress and helplessness?

She felt, rather than saw, the presence of someone directly behind her. She whirled around quickly and relaxed with a little sigh. It was the boy they called the Abbé.

He approached. Bending a little, he said, ‘Good eve, mistress. May I sit beside you?’

She wanted to giggle at the formality: was she a fine lady sitting on a velvet bench that he should talk so? But his politeness and respect were so sincere, without affectation or falsity, that she couldn’t hurt his feelings.

‘Yes, if you please,’ she responded.

‘Your name is Georgette,’ he stated and she looked at him with surprise. ‘I am Robert, of the Abbey of Blois,’ he offered. They sat side by side for a while. She stole a glance at his face below the hood and saw that he too was sombre and disappointed.

‘It feels hard not to be chosen,’ she ventured, and he nodded. For a long time they remained still on the dirty quayside.

As dusk deepened, Georgette noticed that they were the only young people still on the wharf. Two drunken sailors swaggered past without seeing them in the shadows, and one stopped, faced a wall close to them, and pulled at his trousers. Georgette had time only to jerk her skirts away from the piss whooshing against the stones so near to her. Robert caught her arm, lifted her to her feet and guided her away from the harbour.

‘I saw a few taverns on the way through the town,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can find somewhere to sleep for the night and some hot food.’

Georgette blinked.
We?
He was talking as though they had already decided to throw in their fates together. She opened her mouth to protest her ignorance of such an agreement, but closed it. There was great relief in having this quiet older boy at her side and she would not disturb his assumption until she had another and better solution.

Too drained and shy to talk, they entered the first inn silently and waited to be noticed. The innkeeper took one look at their youthful faces and apparent lack of funds and told them roughly to be off: the inn was full and he would not tolerate beggars. Georgette blushed and quickly lifted the hem of her cape, about to dig for the bits of silver sewn in there when her father had urged them on her. Quickly, Robert put his hand on her arm again, with that respectful but firm grasp, and led her out of the door.

‘Do not reveal that you have a hiding place for coins,’ he warned. ‘Take them out here, in this alley, where no one will see.’ And he began to pick with a little knife at something stitched behind his own belt, which turned out to be a cloth knotted around coins. Georgette borrowed his knife and undid her own even little stitches, trustingly dropped her coins into the same pile as his, and counted the total along with him. At the next inn they entered, Robert showed a little of their money in his hand as he asked for lodging, and the innkeeper seemed regretful as he said he had more guests than straw pallets and could not even squeeze them into a room with other customers. He directed them to the third, and last, inn in the area of the harbour.

Outside the entrance, Georgette whispered, ‘What will we do if they too are full?’

Robert did not answer but appeared determined as he opened the thick door. They were met by the warmth and delicious smell of a huge fire licking eagerly at several chickens and a fatty lamb shank on a large spit. The juices dripped and sizzled on the willow-wood below. The woman turning the spit handed over her task to a sturdy child, mopped her brow and came towards them, her expression surprised but not unfriendly at the sight of two young, unaccompanied guests. She looked keenly at Robert as he requested shelter and food, counted the coins in his hand, and clucked at the sight of Georgette’s swollen, red eyes.

‘I have no rooms,’ she began, at which Georgette’s face must have fallen because the woman continued hurriedly, ‘but don’t ye worry, there is room enough for ye to lay down near the fire tonight after my good dinner. Ye will be warm there and if ye don’t mind the noise of those who might stay up late drinking, ye’ll sleep well and feel brighter in the morning.’

She took some of the silver from Robert’s palm, closed his fingers around the other coins and bade him tuck them away safely, and led them to the broad slabs of stone before the fire, which she promised to soften with straw before they went to bed.

The aromatic lamb shank turned out to be for the sole pleasure of two well-dressed men who entered in high spirits after all the other guests had dined on chicken. With many compliments, the innkeeper ushered these particular guests into a private alcove, warmed by its own small fire and shielded from curious eyes by a greasy curtain. The new arrivals did not notice the young boy and girl sitting on the hearthstones, but Robert and Georgette recognised the seafaring man and the merchant from the quayside. Hugh the Iron and William the Pig.

Robert’s face reddened; Georgette’s lips trembled. They needed no reminder of the failure of the day.

All the other guests had retired to bed by this time, and while the innkeeper fawned over the two men, Robert and Georgette settled down silently before the fire. The hearth was so long that they could lie with the top of their heads pointing towards each other. The woman had provided a good amount of straw, and they both felt the dying embers warming them all the way along to their toes. Georgette yawned and heard Robert respond in kind.

But the men in the alcove were becoming increasingly quarrelsome as they quaffed their beer, and soon their angry voices became loud enough to be clearly overheard.

‘I’ll not take that loss all on myself. I had my timber ready at the dock on time and paid good money to have it loaded on your ships. I paid more good money to have it unloaded to make room for those brats. Now what am I to do with my timber? It will be weeks until I can hire so many ships at one time again.’

‘Damn your timber, man,’ Hugh the Iron roared, his rough voice cutting across the merchant’s whine. ‘We’ll get triple the profit from the new cargo, maybe more.’

‘Yes, we both profit, but ’tis my money that is financing this voyage, including all the food I had to provide for those ragamuffins,’ William the Pig complained. ‘You know yourself that we picked the sturdiest, and those kind eat more, don’t they?’

‘And sell for more too.’

The merchant merely grunted in response, so Hugh pressed his advantage.

‘Anyway, the way they’re squeezed on, I’m taking a greater risk of my boats being sunk before we can hand over the goods. Enough about your timber, merchant William, and pay the money you owe me.’

William the Pig let loose a flood of oaths, but pushed back his chair in defeat.

‘Upstairs,’ he said. ‘We can count it out in private there.’

Georgette was pressing her knuckles against her mouth to keep from screaming. Robert felt a rage so violent and painful that a groan escaped him. But the men stumbling from the room were far too drunk to notice.

Silence.

There could be no doubt. The men who claimed they were offering free passage as a service to God expected to make a profit on each child. The Crusaders who had marched singing on to those seven boats, the ones Georgette had thought so fortunate to be chosen, were going to be sold like pieces of timber.

Recollecting the scene on the wharf in a flash, Georgette realised that her interference on behalf of the thirsty children had made her seem too independent to be chosen. But Robert? He was tall, if not sturdy. Was there something in his straight, unblinking gaze that had unnerved them?

When Georgette and Robert heard the men’s feet creaking overhead, they sat up slowly. Robert was silent, his face red and blotchy. Georgette sobbed like a lost child.

After a few minutes, Robert put his arm around her shoulders, awkward but comforting. She barely realised that she was gripping his jerkin and weeping into his shoulder, stifling the noise against the cloth. She had cried bitterly twice that day, once because she had not been on the ship, and the second time because she could have been on the ship
 . . .
and because Patrice and so many others just like her were sailing in their innocence to a terrible fate.

‘Can’t we save them?’ she cried. ‘Is there no one who can save them?’

Robert’s currency was thoughts, not feelings. He began to speak his thoughts out loud. And she quietened and listened.

‘They will be far away by now. Any pursuit by good men here in Marseilles, if there be good men any longer, will fail to catch up with those ships. So there is no way to reach them and free them.’ At this, he shuddered, still holding Georgette around her shoulders protectively.

He continued, ‘We know some of the children’s names and we can retrace our route, in order to tell the parents of their sad fate.’

Georgette lifted her face. ‘But perhaps it is better for them not to know; to think their children are in the Holy Land, or even that they are dead and at peace,’ she whispered.

‘You know more about these things than I do,’ Robert said.

‘What about the innkeeper?’ Georgette said. ‘She was kind. Is there no one we can tell?’

‘Aye, we can tell a priest of this town what we heard,’ Robert replied. ‘So that Hugh and William are put on trial for their terrible work. The Holy Roman Emperor himself must blanch at the evil in men who could trade in child pilgrims. But the men will vehemently deny any knowledge of the plot, and it will be our word, two young northerners, against the word of two rich traders from this big southern city.’

There was a long silence while they traced each of their options to a dead end. Then Robert spoke with difficulty,

‘We must bear the truth alone for now. And thank God, for saving us from being among the chosen ones.’

The youngsters reeled with shock and sheer exhaustion. Georgette swayed as she sat and Robert urged her to try to sleep.

‘This is no place for young people without protectors,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, if you are agreeable, we should start back to the north.’

Georgette nodded. She was grateful for the company. But when she closed her eyes, she saw the merry children waving from the deck of the last boat and she began to sob again. Robert stretched out his arm and took one of her hands. And that was how they slept, each with an arm outstretched to the other.