The Iron Lance (40 page)

“Who is it?” inquired the monk.

“What difference does it make?” Murdo snapped.

“God knows,” answered Emlyn amiably. “I merely thought that if I knew more about this affair, I might be able to help you.”

“No one can help me,” Murdo declared. “I am alone in this, and that is the way of things.”

Emlyn desisted then, and they resumed their walk in silence—which Murdo much preferred. By the time they reached the Jaffa Gate, he had decided that so there should be no bad blood between himself and King Magnus, he would redeem his oath of fealty—beg it, if possible, buy it, if necessary. Then he would return to the monastery, retrieve his fortune, and hasten to Jaffa where he would arrange passage on the first ship leaving the Holy Land to return to the west.

What he would do when he reached Orkney—that was less certain. But, inasmuch as he had a long, long time aboard ship to ponder the question, he was certain the answer would occur to him long before he saw the blue-misted hills of the Dark Isles.

The lords of the West met in council the next day in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There, in the chapel built over the rock-cut tomb where the carpenter Jesu was laid to rest following his execution by the Romans, the leaders of the crusade met to decide who should hold and protect the city for all Christendom.

Several long boards had been set up end-to-end below the chapel's altar, forming a single long table to accommodate the crusaders and their companions. The chapel was not large; there was room only for sixty men at table, and the remaining two hundred or so were made to stand behind their respective lords. Other curious onlookers filled the vestibule, and still more stood out in the yard, straining to hear what passed within.

Raymond of Toulouse, accompanied by his chaplain, the Abbot of Aguilers, Count Robert of Flanders, and various other noblemen in his company, took the chief places at the table. Next, Duke Godfrey, and his brother Baldwin, Count of Edessa, arrived and assumed their places on Raymond's right, leaving Bohemond and his company of nobleman and advisers no choice but to claim the left side of the board. Robert, Duke of Normandy, last to arrive, joined the company at the foot of the table alongside the Bishop of Bayeux, his chaplains and counselors; for once, he did not mind facing Raymond—since his men were already making preparations to leave the city, by this
time next week he would be well on his way home no matter what happened in council.

“God bless you, and be gracious to you,” Raymond began. He folded his long hands before him, and gazed solemnly down the length of the board at the many faces turned toward his. “This day, all thanks to Our Lord, we meet in the Holy Shrine of Our Saviour's Tomb to decide among us who shall ascend the throne of Jerusalem. For this purpose, and towards this end, I have asked the abbot to lead us in prayers of thanksgiving for our victory, and supplication for our guidance in the weighty matters before us.” Lifting a hand to his chaplain, who rose from his place beside him, he said, “Abbot, we wait upon you.”

The count then pushed back his chair and knelt on the stone floor. Godfrey was quick to follow his lead—out of genuine piety, for it was how he always prayed—and the others, not to be thought impious, drew back their own chairs and benches, and put their knees to the floor as the cleric faced the altar, stretched forth his hands, and began to pray.

Mercifully, the abbot confined himself to a half dozen well-chosen prayers and psalms, and then pronounced his benediction, allowing his congregation to resume their places at the table with unaccustomed haste. Raymond then opened the proceedings with a blunt, but truthful appraisal of their position. “My lords,” he said, “the death of Bishop Adhemar has left us with a question: who is to rule over the Holy City? Adhemar was not only our friend, he was the pope's legate, and therefore the likely successor to the throne of Jerusalem. We may be bereft of our friend, and his judicious guidance, but our cause is well-served by the men who have gathered around this board today.”

He let his gaze sweep the length of the table before continuing. “The throne of Jerusalem is reclaimed, and now it is for us to choose who will ascend that throne. The rule of the Holy
Land is not to be lightly assumed,” Raymond warned, his voice growing stern, “for the man who would wield authority in Christ's city must himself be blameless, upright, and able to defend the holy places from the enemies of our faith.”

The Lord of Toulouse nodded to himself. He had put the thing fairly, and now it was for the others to say what they would. He sat down, letting his eyes rest on Robert of Flanders, who manfully stirred himself to his duty. “My lords and dear companions,” he said, rising to his feet from his place near the head of the table, “if you would allow me to speak, I will presume on your attention for the briefest of moments.”

“Speak! Speak!” the lords answered. “Speak, man. Say it out.”

“Thank you.” The count bowed, as if acquiescing to the will of the assembly. “As is well known among you, I have no personal interest in the rule of this city. Even now, I am carrying forth my plans for a swift return to my lands and home…”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the noblemen. “Get on with it, man.”

“Therefore,” continued the count, taking no heed of their impatience, “my only interest is to see this city—this city whose freedom has exacted such a heavy price from us all, a price which we have all borne with…”

“Move on, move on,” murmured the voices.

“…price which we have all borne with selfless—nay,
sacrificial
—forbearance and endurance, counting the cost daily, not only in the material wealth granted us, but in the lives of our kinsmen, friends, and men at arms who follow…”

“For God's sake, get on with it!” shouted a nobleman from Bohemond's entourage.

Robert glared coldly at the man, and continued, “My only interest is to see this city well provided with leadership, protection, and government, both temporally
and
spiritually, for the
safety, not only of its citizens, but for the many pilgrims who will follow in our footsteps…”

“Hoo! Hoo!” bawled Bohemond's supporters, some of them banging on the board with the flat of their hands.

“Lords and noblemen!” barked Count Raymond, leaning forward sharply. “This is not seemly. We are here to choose the next king of Jerusalem.”

“We are here to divide the plunder!” called a voice from among Baldwin's entourage.

“All in good time, my friend,” Raymond replied imperiously. “Those who only care for the wealth of the world shall have their reward, but we will deal with higher things first.” Turning his approving gaze upon Robert, he said, “Pray continue, my friend. We are listening.”

Robert, growing flustered by the repeated interruptions, decided to cut short his discourse, and strove resolutely towards the end. “Therefore, I find it fitting that we should come together in the place where Our Lord rose from his grave, to assist in the resurrection of the Holy City, that from this day forth…”

“The king! The king!” shouted another of Bohemond's men. “Who will be king?”

“Silence, everyone!” cried someone in Godfrey's camp. “Or we will be at this all day!”

Robert, fumbling for words now, cut his losses and made a hasty retreat. “To this end, I submit that we could not choose a better man to assume the throne of Jerusalem than Raymond, Count of Toulouse and Provence.” He sat down so quickly that it took a moment for the rest of the assembly to realize he had indeed finished.

The Duke of Normandy seized the opportunity. “Friends and comrades, as a warrior and a nobleman, whether on the field
of battle, or in the court of rule, I yield nothing to anyone who holds not my respect; and that respect must be earned, by God. I say Duke Godfrey has earned my highest respect, and that of all crusaders. Therefore, he should be king.”

“Hear! Hear!” shouted the duke's supporters and advisers. “It is God's will!”

Bishop Arnulf, who was chaplain to the duke, added his voice to the acclaim. “The man who was first on the wall, and first to set foot in the city, and first to draw blood in defense of the faith—should not that man be made ruler of the city? What say you, Godfrey?”

The Duke of Bouillon, looking suitably solemn, rose and turned pious eyes towards the altar. After a moment, he made the sign of the cross over himself, then turned to the assembly. “I am humbled that you should deem me worthy of the honor you propose. Yet, whether I am granted the rule of the city, or whether it shall pass to another, I believe that it should here be established that the throne of Jerusalem shall remain empty until Christ himself shall come to resume his reign. Brothers, we would do well to await that glad day with keen anticipation. Until our Lord Christ returns, I should be honored to hold this city for him, but never let it be as king. For no mortal monarch should wear a crown of gold, where Our Lord and Saviour wore a crown of thorns!”

Raymond, alarmed at the speed with which the kingship was receding from his grasp, waded back into the fray. “Well said, my friend!” he called loudly. “You speak my own thoughts admirably well. Allow me to propose, therefore, that the ruler of the Holy City should own a title befitting his humility and devotion.”

This sentiment met with the acclaim of the assembled lords, who shouted their support so loudly that Raymond allowed
himself a small, inward smile at how well he had steered the tide of opinion back to his favor.

But he had not reckoned on Bohemond. “My lords, and esteemed and worthy comrades, we have braved many dangers on our pilgrimage, the successful completion of which is now contemplated. It only remains for us to choose an honorable ruler, and make division of the treasures which God has placed in our hands for the benefit of our troops and the on-going protection of his Holy City.”

His listeners were rapt. Here was a new wrinkle in the argument; what did the wily prince have in mind?

“I speak not for myself,” Bohemond continued, “but for those who have no voice at this assembly, yet who nevertheless have given of their sweat and blood as much as anyone here. Were we to hear those voices, I doubt not they would tell us that he who would be ruler of Jerusalem must be seen to be just, fair-handed, and generous. They would say that it should be the Lord of Jerusalem's first duty to see to the division of the treasure seized in plunder. To this end, I will uphold the man who will shoulder this burden with all equity and impartiality.”

So saying, the prince then sat down. He wished Tancred was with him; his cousin's support would have helped sway the balance of opinion. Still, he had an ally equally eager to see an evenhanded division of the spoils: King Magnus. The Norse lord was on his feet before the crowd had yet tumbled to the implications of Prince Bohemond's proposal.

“My lords, friends, and brothers-in-arms,” said the king in rough Latin. “I am not known to many here, but like you, I have taken the cross and, like you, braved the dangers of pilgrimage to see the Holy City liberated. I agree with Bohemond: we must choose the man who will support those whose blood
and muscle made the conquest possible—wherever they fought, and wherever they fell.”

Magnus then took his seat, to much noisy acclamation. To Raymond's chagrin, the noblemen liked this plainspeaking barbarian lord and his outrageous suggestion that the latecomers should share in the plunder.

“The prince and his liegeman are right to remind us of our duty to the men on whom we all depend,” Raymond said, desperate to repair the breach to his carefully constructed campaign. “Let me add my voice to those who say that we should honor them. But I ask you: would it not be a disservice to those who gave their lives to include men who were not here, who by their very absence caused those on whose shoulders fell the burden of liberation to labor more greatly for the lack?”

Before his voice had died away, Magnus was on his feet once more. “Please, my lord, I mean no disrespect, but men where I come from are used to simpler fare. Are you saying that you would not abide by the agreement, made by every nobleman around this table, to divide the plunder equally?”

All eyes turned to Raymond to see the count's face grow red with anger and exasperation. The count's discomfiture pleased Bohemond greatly. In the short time he had known the King of Norway, Bohemond had grown very fond of his new vassal. Of Northern blood himself, he understood Norsemen and their unaffected ways. Of all his mercenary host, he valued their courage, skill, and fearlessness most highly. These were men he could count on to dare anything for gain—something Bohemond appreciated, and wholeheartedly approved.

Thus, the two questions hung in the air like storm clouds poised to collide and inundate all beneath with thunder and torrent. King Magnus had forced the count to declare his intentions regarding the division of spoils, and had let the assembly know
where his sentiments lay. Raymond, insisting on the narrowest interpretation of their agreement, had let them know he would withhold the spoils from anyone who had not fought in Jerusalem.

Now, it was for the other contender to make his position known. Bishop Arnulf spoke up, “Forgive me, lords, if I speak where I ought to pursue silence. But as I have voiced my support for Godfrey of Bouillon, I would hear his answer to the questions posed before us.”

“Indeed! Indeed!” shouted the noble assembly. “What say you, Godfrey? On your feet, man!”

The Duke of Bouillon rose and smiled at his questioners, and at Raymond, too, to show there were no hard feelings on his part. “Again, I am honored that my fellows and peers should consider me worthy to occupy the most important seat of government in all Christendom. Therefore, let me reassure any who, through no fault of their own, were unable to reach Jerusalem in time to aid in its liberation, that I recognize their invaluable contribution to the crusade. Out of appreciation and gratitude for the unity of our purpose, I would see that selfsame unity extend to the apportioning of the plunder.”

He inclined his head towards the bishop, and resumed his seat to the acclaim of his supporters. To any who yet wavered in their convictions, it quickly became apparent that the question of who should sit on the throne of Jerusalem would only be answered by including Bohemond and Baldwin in the allotment. For their part, both noblemen professed themselves well-pleased with the conquest, and loudly lamented the fact that they had not been able to reach Jerusalem in time to aid in the city's release from Muhammedan domination; and, of course, neither saw any reason why, as recognized leaders of the crusade, they should not extract a generous portion of the spoils.

Raymond remained stoutly against the latecomers' inclusion,
resisting all suggestions that the city's plunder should be shared by any who did not actively aid in making possible its acquisition. Much to his surprise, this position did not enhance his position among the noblemen. When placed aside the wider generosity of Godfrey, the Count of Toulouse seemed grasping and mean-spirited.