Chapter 73
Ships
The view of the Bosphorus straits past the harbors from the railed balcony atop the column of Arcadius was expansive and unlimited, unlike the conversation with the stylite which was going nowhere.
“So I confess to all that which I have told you and yet you cannot offer absolution.” Pons shook his head. “Give me back the meat pie.”
“I cannot grant absolution because your Catholic heresy breaks with Orthodoxy. That blasphemy alone damns you before any dirty tricks you may have played at the chariot racing circus.”
“Waste of time talking to you. Still, mum and silent - seal of the confessional and all that. Wouldn't want any of this to get out. That is a long fall.”
Pons’ eyes scanned the horizon, which was the real reason for his personal ascent up the narrow stairs along the inside of the sea green column’s drum, not absolution. He had a feeling that today would be the day. “How long have you been up here?”
“I ascended when the foreign Empress Regent and her lover, Emperor Manuel’s nephew, tried to seize power from the true Emperor, Alexios II. I remain while the Kingdom of Man strays from the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“Praying to put it back to rights, are you?”
“There must be one Emperor, clear and unchallenged on Earth, just as there is one all-powerful God in Heaven.”
Off in the southern haze rising from the sea Pons spied a white and red sail. “If you spurn mankind and want to get close to Heaven why do you not climb a mountain?”
“I do not spurn mankind, I spurn mankind’s excesses.”
No. Two sails. Red over white.
“Ha ha. I do not suppose a dove has shit on you today?”
No. Wait. Three.
Three ships from the west flying under the colors of Montferrato. The Margrave was coming.
“Not today, but for a blessing would you do a Holy Brother a kindness and carry down my chamber pot?”
“On a mountain you could shit in the forest and piss in a stream. All on your own.” Pons chuckled the whole way down. “Empty my piss pot he asks.”
Pons was unconcerned about failing to obtain absolution. He had a deal in place.
* * *
The first time Pons visited Montferrat and met Lord Guilhem was on a beautiful spring day in the year 1147. In his early twenties at the time, he had always been of a flexible morality, and was ignorant of all Church learning save the most rudimentary gestures, genuflections and responses picked up, not through instruction, but merely by observation. Yet at this point in his life he was concerned about his soul. And more particularly, his life.
On that April morning a large table had been set up out front of St. Evasius’ church and busy behind it were the clerks, priests, and notaries which would deal with the organization of the entire ‘thing.’
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The ‘thing’ they were preparing for was a… what? A pilgrimage? A campaign? A pilgrimage with a lot of soldiers and supplies in any event. Fighting men were needed.
Pons had long ago left lawful employment when the barracks, where he acted as mascot and barber, was ordered, by the King, to surrender to a neighboring Lord. The local Count refused and rebellion ensued. Pons’ hardiness and folk remedy medical skills proved handy in the field to the rebels, but as time wore on and the political situation became hopeless, the rebels became outlaws and then highwaymen. Older veterans from the barracks died or were killed, but new recruits, ne'er-do-wells, and runaways from all over would seek the band. They numbered between twelve and twice that, as the toll of seasons, attrition, and illness waxed and waned. The luckless, castout rogues eked out an existence poaching, raiding, and thieving. They would be taken and executed in most of France and northern Europe, death sentences hung over all. They kept one step ahead of Lord’s men and town watches, passed from borough to burgh, forest to field, constantly on the move. With the noose tightening they took to the mountains for winter. Pons and a handful of others survived to come south down from the Alps to the Po River valley.
Their salvation was found by virtue of timing. News had arrived in the region.
“Zenghi has taken Edessa.”
The words from a passing friar meant nothing to Pons.
A foreign sounding person had captured a foreign sounding place. Yet, much excitement had been elicited by this far away aggression. The friar said that available fighting men of suitable age and fitness were being recruited to journey to the Holy Land and defend fellow Christians from the heathens. Those who enlisted would be provided rations, and all of their past sins, both mortal and venial would be absolved, better - it would be as if baptized once again - cleansed of all sin, once they reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.
Pons could not speak for the rest of his men, if indeed they were his men; they were so few in number, and no vote had been taken, so there was no actual leader; but the mention of the word ‘rations’ caught his attention. He was younger than most, but more savvy than all. The friar assured them that the nearest place to swear pilgrimage was in Montferrat.
At the prime fighting age of thirty-one years and due to his standing, Margrave Guilhem had to go, of that there was no question. He had a male heir in his son William, and Montferrat would be secure with his wife ruling in his absence. The only question for the Margrave was with which relative should he travel? He had to choose between accompanying his first cousin, Louis VII, King of France, or his brother-in-law Conrad III, Kaisar of the Holy Roman Empire. Both of these sovereigns had gathered their forces for the… event. For the second time a crusade was called. The County of Edessa, one of the four states of Outremer held by the Christians, had been overrun by Zenghi, Atabeg of the Seljuk Empire, and the western powers were worried for the fate of the others, chief among which was Jerusalem itself. Zenghi had overrun Edessa.
When Pons presented himself and his weary band at the recruiting table outside of the church, they were met with stern appraising eyes from the Margrave and the assembled church officials.
“State your name, the name of your company, and your skills.”
“I’m known as ‘Pons’ and my fellow travelers… go by no company name. We are sworn to no Lord. As for skills, we can stand in the front with spears as well as any men, these boys can shovel shit in the stables, and can clean the latrines. I myself am a barber.” Pons drew forth his scissor shears and clicked them. “When we get to the Holy Land you will have a shaved army with soldier’s cuts, marching properly in formation.” This drew a chuckle from the dignitaries. “I can also stitch a wound and set a broken bone.”
For a moment the Margrave sized up the man before him and his company. “Do you have any kit?”
“We were hoping that would be provided, along with rations, forgiveness for past crimes, and salvation?”
In the end Margrave Guilhelm chose to travel with neither sovereign. Instead he met up with his half brother Amadeus, Count of Savoy, and together they made their way down the coast to Brundisium at the heel of Italy.
That had been Pons’ first visit to Constantinople, enroute to Jerusalem, crammed with the armies on board the first ship he had ever been on. Once he had sailed into the very harbor where his master now returned. He was a pilgrim who had not completed his pilgrimage. In the end, he never visited the church which had been the object of his journey. He had been diverted by a debacle of a siege at Damascus. For the past thirty six years the tally of his sins and crimes had been mounting. Still, Pons had every intention of completing his vow and pilgrimage and fulfilling his end of the deal. Someday.