Crusade (9 page)

The abbot’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. He spoke briefly and definitely, ‘Your work is here, at my side. You will not go.’ He turned his attention back to his reading.

But his young acolyte stood firm.

‘I have considered my path, Père Abbé, and I believe Jesus Christ wants me to join this Crusade,’ Robert said. ‘I hope to return safely to you and our work here, but if I die along the way, I will have been of service to the Lord in a different way.’

The abbot turned to look at him again. The circumstance was extraordinary. Never before in their long and unvarying relationship had the boy disregarded any word that came from his lips. He opened his mouth to strip the boy of his insolence with one harsh sentence, to make him creep back to his proper place, cringing and contrite. But he held still and his brow furrowed in calculation.

Robert’s own eyes watered but he did not withdraw them from the long stare. His mind was made up. Jesus had a reason for wanting him, Robert, to join this crusade. And he would do so.

If Robert were more honest with himself, he would have recognised another reason – one that was less exalted – for his need to join the Crusaders. He was jealous of the Prophet, consumed with envy. This farm boy had shown him up to be a dreamer rather than a doer. And yet he had to be near Stephen. He had to take the opportunity of observing the charismatic leader and learning the secret of his powerful energy, if he were ever to grow into his own destiny.

The abbot chided himself for not being prepared for the boy’s first sign of independence. He was already fourteen, and overdue for this rebellion. The older man briefly considered ordering Robert to abandon his idea forthwith, locking him in his cell, if necessary, until that band of silly children and their peacock of a leader were far away.

The boy’s set face brought his thoughts to heel. The abbot had observed Robert closely since he was a little boy of seven. He had watched the boy pray for long periods, ignoring the pain of kneeling on the cold hard floor. He had seen him keep up manfully with the hard physical labour performed by young monks. He had heard the young child refusing the blandishments of the jolly cooks in order to return to his work in the library. Like a silent black shadow, the abbot had watched and observed and overheard. He knew there was no chance of changing Robert’s mind. This was a boy who would not break the faith, however he interpreted it should be read.

The abbot was startled to realise how much he would miss the boy’s company. He was well aware, and told himself it didn’t bother him at all, that there was not another human being in the world who would not consider it harsh punishment to remain in the abbot’s presence hour after hour. And even if some were willing, he, of course, would not be satisfied with the company of anyone less exceptional than himself
 . . .
and the boy.

From habit, the abbot turned to his perennial preoccupation. What could he gain from this situation, from young Robert’s ungrateful but unbreakable decision? Could he turn it to his credit that his protégé, whose exceptional intelligence he had proclaimed in high places, was to join a holy crusade? Robert would be allowed to wear the blue cross, signifying the considerable status of a returned Crusader, on his return to the abbot’s side. They would look well together, the abbot in the robes of a member of the Ecclesiastic Council followed closely by Robert bearing the striking blue cross, experienced and matured on his return.

That is, if he returned. The abbot briefly considered the prospect of the boy’s death along the road, but dismissed it from his mind. Our Lord would not take the young life that had been carefully and brilliantly moulded by the abbot in His service. The abbot’s years of training that exceptional brain, guiding that strong character, could not go in vain.

A wry thought almost brought a smile to his bloodless lips. The boy had convinced him, Abbot of Blois, to change his mind, truly a rare feat. What remarkable powers of persuasion Robert would have as an adult, as the abbot’s right-hand man and perhaps even as his confidant.

Of course, it would not do to show the boy that he had been allowed to make his own decision. Speaking for the first time in long minutes, the abbot said, ‘You are dismissed. Remain in your cell until prime while I pray for guidance on this matter.’

It was fortunate that the abbot’s prayers were answered in the next hour or two, and that he received the same direction from Jesus that his student claimed. There was even time for him to write a short letter to his superiors with the news that he had enrolled his beloved and brilliant young protégé in the glorious service of the Holy Crusades and to humbly beg them to pray for a successful journey and the boy’s safe return to the service of the Church.

Before proceeding outside to lead prime for the Crusaders, he entered the boy’s cell and, not acknowledging the travelling stick made ready with a small bag knotted to its end, gave Robert permission to join the Crusade. He also gave a puzzled assent to the boy’s request to take with him the little earthenware dish that had held oil, water and a wick. He had no memory of giving the lamp to Robert.

He commended the boy to Prophet Stephen’s care, oblivious to Robert’s discomfort at the implication of the authority held by the unchildlike child leader, and making it clear to observers that Robert’s new direction had been his guardian’s plan all along. This was confirmed by the handsomely bound breviary and the overly generous gift of money that he presented formally to Robert for his travels, with a brief speech in front of the gathered monks of the abbey.

The Prophet was impatient to return to the road and there was no time for long farewells. Robert accepted the blessings of the assembled monks with some embarrassment. The jolly twin cooks burst into tears, hugging him between them like a morsel of beef between two loaves and weeping unashamedly on each other’s rounded shoulders and Robert’s thin ones.

That was the only time that Robert needed to summon his resolve. For almost eight years he had been content within the walls of the monastery, now he left without turning around, his steps light, long and quick.

Chapter Nine

The first days outside the monastery for Robert were an assault on his entire being. Unused to children, he was suddenly jostled by an uncountable number of them. At night, the discomfort of being exposed to the elements was far less than the discomfort of the consciousness of bodies moving and breathing, snoring, coughing and sometimes crying, all around him.

During the day there was no place to be alone. At the abbey, there were strict rules about bodily privacy, and the abbot frowned on any of the monks hawking and spitting or blowing their noses on to the ground. Here children and youths defecated in full view, evacuated the mucus from their noses in whichever way was most convenient, and commented – at least among the boys – on each other’s genitals and the girls’ breasts. He had pictured his fellow travellers as pure young Crusaders.

Although he was already fourteen, and thus one of the older members of the Crusade, he was filled with his old fear of being tormented by other children before Abbot Benedict removed him to the abbey. Within days, he was universally and openly called Abbé because of the black hood he wore day and night, shading his face from full view and keeping his ropy scar a secret. But his remoteness put paid to plans of either persecution or friendship, and soon the members of his group turned to better sport, leaving him alone.

Finding himself truly unobserved, Robert became the observer. As he watched a group of boys play leapfrog, the littlest one alternately weeping with frustration and laughing with abandon, the others forming and breaking alliances by the minute, he remembered the last time he had seen such antics:

These children act like the litter of kittens that the twin cooks once kept in a corner of the kitchen
, he thought.

His greatest interest was in the Prophet Stephen, but it was not easy to get close to him physically. During the day, the leader rode with his favoured youths on horseback some distance ahead of the straggling, slow-moving crowd. At night, they settled in the choicest spot, sat around a roaring fire built for them by youngsters from other groups, and ate and drank without restraint. The toughest-looking boys guarded Stephen against any pestering approaches.

One night, Robert managed to draw quite close to their circle, crouching in the shelter of bushes nearby until they fell asleep, watching silently and catching whatever words of conversation he could hear. Stephen himself seldom spoke, but when he did throw in a comment, there were roars of laughter, although Robert had not understood any joke in the words. There was little about God and the soul in their discussion, it seemed. Robert crept away unsatisfied.

After he had been two weeks on the road, everything changed. A mounted messenger trotted up to Robert’s group and conferred briefly with the group leader.

‘Robert of Blois,’ the leader called, ‘our leader Stephen has need of your services. Go with this man.’

Robert froze.

‘Come,’ the messenger urged impatiently. ‘Get up behind me. It’s a long way to the front group.’

‘I don’t know how,’ Robert murmured. ‘I’ve never ridden on a horse.’ There was a shout of laughter from a group of farm boys who had been listening to this interchange. Here was a member of their own group summoned to meet with the Prophet himself, yet he could not even climb into a saddle.

Within seconds, they had hoisted Robert up behind the messenger. His legs hung down awkwardly and he clung to the waist of his guide. He was very far from the ground.

‘Godspeed,’ his young grooms called good-naturedly. ‘Be careful the horse doesn’t take a bite of your boot!’

The horse was urged into a canter and Robert went pale with fear. He was bounced high and hard with every movement. The road, the bushes, the children they were passing were a blur, and his fingers tightened on the messenger’s girdle, squeezing the fold of thick material as if it were paper. He knew he was going to fall; it was just a matter of how long he could hold on.

But soon the horse slowed to a jolting trot and came to a stop. Clumsily, Robert slipped to the ground. He had not had a chance to ponder the inexplicable summons by the leader.

Stephen sprawled on a rich cloak in the centre of his group of lieutenants, talking and laughing while his followers laughed even louder. Eating titbits from a bowl of salted salmon, he left Robert standing for a few minutes before turning to him.

‘Do you know the service for dawn?’ he asked without preliminary.

‘Yes,’ Robert answered, remembering a similar question asked of him by the abbot one fateful morning in Tours.

‘And evensong too?’

‘Yes,’ said Robert again.

Stephen looked at him with undisguised surprise.

‘How old are you? How did you learn everything? They’re long.’

Robert could not resist. ‘It was easy. I’m fourteen now but I’ve known prime and vespers since I was six.’

There were a few low whistles.

‘I told you I saw him saying every word by heart while the abbot of his abbey was leading,’ boasted one of the youths.

‘I need you to lead the Divine Office from tomorrow on,’ Stephen announced with command, rather than request or invitation, in his voice. ‘Only the morning prayers and evensong – we don’t have time for the others.’

‘I’m not an ordained priest,’ Robert protested.

‘I’m not worried about that,’ Stephen announced airily. ‘We don’t have any other choice. One of the priests died of fever and the other told me today that he is unable to continue with us on the morrow. He has a crippling pain in his back, he says.
Bah
, too old, I told him. This is a crusade for strong young people.’

He waved commandingly at Robert. ‘I’m told everyone calls you Abbé. Well, that’s convenient. You look the role. You know the words of the play. Now you are the official abbé.’

He laughed and turned to the messenger. ‘Get his blanket and pack and bring them here to our group.’

As the youth cantered off, Stephen pointed his finger at Robert. ‘Sit,’ he ordered, and returned to his conversation.

Robert sat.

It was very pleasurable, Robert soon found, to have young people looking at him with respect, moving out of his way, asking him to bless them as if he were a real priest. Of course, he did not give blessings or lead Mass – that would be against church law – but he had decided that it would be appropriate for him to recite lauds and vespers if there was no priest to do it. He found he was modulating his voice, throwing it out to the group, noting approvingly his own fluency and clear enunciation.