Beloved Pilgrim (16 page)

There were some mishaps that cheer could not
make endurable, however, though word of them rarely made it to the
armored class riding at the fore. After being trampled by horses,
wagons and men, the path froze over again and became quite icy.
More than one camp follower slipped and fell. One woman who had her
three children tied to her with a length of rope took those
children with her as she slipped, slid, and then shot over the edge
of a deep ravine. Elisabeth found out about the accident when one
of the men-at-arms not far behind where she rode cried out at being
given the news. He had lost wife and children in one fell swoop.
Those who fell but only broke limbs were at the mercy of their
companions' willingness to carry and care for them. How many were
left behind to freeze to death was not calculated.

Near the summit of the highest pass Elisabeth
was invited to rest in the guesthouse of a priory as a reward for
the luck she seemed to bring with her. She and Albrecht appreciated
the warm, dry cells and the hot and hearty food. She felt bad that
the three knights who had befriended her were out in the cold.
Albrecht did not share his suspicion that they welcomed one night
without their shining star. With "Elias" not there to model piety,
they would have a chance to go to the lower camp and risk getting
the pox.

Late in the evening Elisabeth was invited to
sit in the priory's warming room, a circular space with a large
fire in a firepot in the middle. The conical roof allowed the smoke
to billow out without letting in much of the cold air except when
the wind was especially hard. She was tongue-tied in the exalted
company that included the Holy Roman Emperor's Constable, Conrad,
and other highborn knights and clerics. She was content to sit and
listen and hope no one asked her a question. She thanked her own
lucky stars that no one had occasion to bathe, because she had her
woman's flux and might have worried about the odor in such a tight
press.

One of the bishops asked the Constable,
"Where are we expecting to meet up with the other contingents, my
lord?"

Conrad sat with his head back against the
wall and his eyes closed. "We should be coming into Italy near the
town of Verona. I believe we will find them camped somewhat south
and east, between Verona and Bologna. We will continue along the
east coast of Italy to Brindisi."

An older knight put in his own question, "And
whom are they expecting besides Stephen of Blois?"

Conrad lifted his head and scowled when the
name elicited chuckles. "That's quite enough of that. He's making
his pledge good." He looked at the knight who had asked him the
question. "Also Stephen, Count of Burgundy, and Odo, Duke of
Burgundy."

"Burgundy. Don't they call him Stephen the
Rash?" someone asked.

"Yes, same as his father. His older brother
died in the Holy Land, you know."

"I hope the moniker is not accurate. Rash and
a prince, that's all they need. My lord, have you met him?"

Conrad nodded. "I don't know why they call
him that. He's no youngster. He seemed calm enough to me when I saw
him last."

"What about this Odo? I am afraid I have not
heard the best about him."

Conrad crossed his arms over his chest. "Odo
the Red? No, not what you'd call a model Christian."

Leaning to peer around the fire's flames and
smoke, another man asked grinning, "Do you know what happened when
he tried to rob Anselm of Canterbury?"

All eyes shot to Conrad. The Constable was
smiling. "Yes, but why don't you tell the story?"

The heads shot back to the bishop as if they
had been watching a ball being kicked back and forth.

"Well, it seems that their noble Duke Odo
decided it would be a fine thing to ambush the Archbishop and his
train as they traveled through Burgundy on their way to Rome. When
they had surrounded the party, Odo went about demanding which of
the clerics was Anselm. Anselm came out to him, cheery as you
please, and said something like 'Odo, my brother, how glad I am to
embrace you!' Odo was so startled he let him. And there and then he
pledged himself as Anselm's servant."

Amid the laughter one man asked, "Is the
Archbishop that crafty?"

The man who told the story raised his
eyebrows. "Or is Odo that stupid?"

Elisabeth inserted, "Maybe he was just
embarrassed."

The response was more laughter but also some
considering nods.

She added, "We call him Odo the Red? Maybe he
blushes a lot."

The laughter increased. Two men sitting near
her slapped her on the back. "Rich!" one complimented.

Conrad, smiling, looked at her. "Laugh now,
but don't forget to stop when we get to Verona."

Bowing her head in humility, she nevertheless
asked him a question. "What of Stephen of Blois? I knew he ran away
from the Siege of Antioch. But he can't be the only one who
did."

The laughter subsided quickly. No one looked
at her or for that matter met each other's eyes.

"Lord, you said he is fulfilling his pledge .
. . ," she went on.

Conrad sat up and cast his eyes about the
room. "Young Elias is right." He relented and looked at her. "We
ridicule him because of why he is fulfilling his pledge, though I
do not think you should believe all you hear." He paused. "They say
his wife threw him out of the castle so ashamed she was of
him."

"Rightly so," a voice muttered.

"But you can understand that a man like Blois
doesn't want people to think he is ruled by his wife. Even if she
is the Conqueror's kin."

Conrad shot another scowl in the direction of
a man who interjected, "I think the expression is 'pussy
whipped.'"

One part of going abroad as a man she did not
treasure was the nearly perpetual nastiness she heard about wives.
She occasionally made a half-hearted attempt to present a more
positive interpretation of wifely behavior, but all that earned her
was teasing and taunts. "Mama's boy" was one of the polite
expressions. This time she essayed more forcefully, "Is it not the
role of a wife to inspire and urge her husband to fulfill his holy
vows?"

A few pairs of eyes rolled, a few were cast
down while lips smirked, but not a few looked chastened. Conrad's
bishop rebuked, "Our young knight reminds us of their duty to serve
God the Father. It is not the shame of a man that his wife corrects
him, but that he needs must be corrected. If a man wants a silent
wife, mayhap he should consider how his conduct will earn her
silence."

Well, it wasn't quite what she had intended,
but it was something. As the group filed out of the warming room,
she heard a man mutter, "Prig." Maybe it was time to loosen up, she
thought.

At last the slope was more downward than
upward, the snow disappeared, and the views south stretched out
bare but dry. Olive groves surrounded little villages. The little
town of Verona was walled. With the host that camped outside those
walls, it looked as if it was under siege.

A man in rich armor strode up to welcome
Conrad as the party from Germany and Austria rode up. "They've
closed the gates," his high vexatious voice complained.

"I am glad to see you as well, Stephen. Why
have they closed it?"

Stephen of Blois frowned. "They say our men
cannot be trusted." He waited while the Constable's men helped him
lower his weary bones to the ground from where he rode high up on
his destrier's saddle.

"With what?" the German asked.

Another man cut in, "Much of anything. Wives
and daughters mostly." He walked forward. "Hello, Conrad. So you
made it over the Alps."

Conrad took the proffered hand. "Good to see
you, Stephen."

Some distance away Alain leaned to Elisabeth.
"The first man is Stephen of Blois. The second is Stephen of
Burgundy."

She nodded. "And I suppose that red-haired
man with the red beard is Odo?"

Odo the Red joined the three leaders where
they stood facing one another. "They are right, but so what? Who
are they to interfere?"

Conrad retorted, "With holy pilgrims?"

Stephen of Blois made a sweeping gesture.
"Come on, we don't need to stand out here in the sun quarreling in
front of the men." He led the three men over to where his own
sizable pavilion stood, and all four ducked inside.

The combined armies remained near Verona long
enough to rest the German parties' horses and to finish stripping
the farms outside Verona bare of all provisions. Elisabeth met many
of the Burgundian and Frankish knights when she went with Alain and
her other two knightly friends to make the rounds of the
established camps.

"Mes amis, ma foi, what joy to see you again.
Michel, have you stopped buggering the little boys on your estate?
And you, Olivier, how's that growth on your cock?" The men appeared
to take the insults in the lighthearted spirit in which Alain
intended them. "Come, meet our new friends. You already know that
ugly sod Black Beast. This is Gerhardt. Be sure you stay upwind of
him. And this, mes amis, is Elias von Winterkirche. He's still wet
behind the ears and too holy for his own good, but he has proved
lucky for us."

Sitting around convivial campfires she
learned a lot about the leaders of the armies waiting to pull up
stakes and head for the larger, more promising town of Bologna.
Stephen of Blois, it seemed, was prone to tantrums. Though more
easy-going, Stephen of Burgundy was no peacemaker but washed his
hands of the other Stephen's frequent quarrels with the even more
quarrelsome Odo. She learned that some of Odo's men were the
responsible parties for the shutting of the gates of the town to
soldiers.

"We went on a rampage," explained one of the
Burgundians. "We burned down some buildings, including the tavern
we were getting drunk in, then broke into the mayor's house and
forced him to take in all the now-homeless whores from the
tavern."

"I heard that the abbot of the monastery
found one of Blois's men fucking one of his abbey donkeys."

"Well, it made a nice change from the abbot
doing it."

"Is it true that Odo himself tried to kidnap
the mayor's wife?"

"Oui, he likes them old and fat."

Alain shared the story of how Elisabeth had
gotten a gibe in at Odo that he had heard from someone who had been
in the warming room to hear her. She got much the same reaction
thanks to the fact that Alain did not include the reprimand her
words had inspired from Conrad. As it was, her own face was beet
red when the jesting was over.

Circulating through the many factions
encamped there, Elisabeth sought tidings of her father. None seemed
to know of him, save by reputation. "Mayhap if he went by way of
Milan, he took ship there," one cleric suggested. "Or he went with
the later group, the one led by his Grace, the Archbishop. He could
already be in the Holy Land, but he came not through the eastern
cities of Italia."

Finally restitution to the town was
negotiated, at Conrad's and belatedly Blois's insistence; disputes
about who got to ride where in the assemblage were settled to
simmering; and the armies, complete with multiply enhanced camp
followers, with the addition of several women from Verona, set out
for Bologna.

The streets of Bologna were crowded and
festive with the market day press. Elisabeth and Albrecht found
that just getting from one side of the street to another required
all their brute strength and still took far too long. Elisabeth
turned to her squire to suggest they return to the inn they had
found, but she could see no sign of him. She stood on the tips of
her toes and scanned what she could see of the tops of heads, but
nothing looked either like Albrecht's hat or, if it had been
knocked off or stolen, his chestnut curls. She was about to step up
on a crate when a hand grasped her arm and pulled her away.

"Elias, my good friend! I owe you for that
tavern bill. Come with me and I will make amends."

It was the leader of the mercenary band,
Ranulf. She had occasionally seen him and his ragtag crew on the
journey south, but had no reason to speak to him or any of his
soldiers. "But . . . my squire?"

Ranulf pulled her along with him, brooking no
objection. "Your squire? You don't need him and his purse. This is
on me this time." He grinned sideways at her. "Is he your squire or
your nursemaid? Or . . . ," and now he leered, "your leman?" He
laughed when she looked affronted. "Never mind. Where I am taking
you, you need no lemans anyway."

Elisabeth was unsure whether to worry more
about Albrecht and what he would think of her disappearance or just
where this blackguard was taking her. It seemed to be a place the
man knew well, for he sailed through the crowd unerringly, down the
street, into an alley that was little less crowded than the street,
and then down an even narrower alley. Elisabeth felt her shoe sink
into something squishy, but it was so dark she could not see her
own feet when she looked down. The constant rubbing of bodies
against her own made her worry about two things, about the loss of
her purse and that someone, maybe even Ranulf, would detect a most
unmanly body part under her clothing.

She was relieved when he propelled her into a
covered walkway that was all but empty. Her first action was to
check her purse. It was still there. Then she made sure her
clothing covered everything that must be.

"You look wonderful." Ranulf gave her another
amused look. "Besides, they don't care how you look."

"Who doesn't care?" Elisabeth demanded.

Ranulf did not reply as at that point he
pushed open a rough door that seemed to go into an undercroft of a
very old, sagging, wooden structure. Passing through a low door
with a sign showing seven coins, Elisabeth found herself suddenly
in a dark, low-ceiling space that was overly warm and extremely
smelly. It was almost more loud than warm or smelly. It was not as
packed as the street, but she could hear many voices, some men's,
some women's, some raised in song.