occasionally follow the men, but they had to obey orders strictly and they came rather as camp followers than crusader commanders. But Eleonore would never be anything but a ruler. She would always impose her will on those about her. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had married a less forceful woman.
And even now with this horror all about him he could not regret his marriage. There was about her a quality which no other woman would ever have for him. He would never forget the first time they had met when he had thought her more beautiful than any creature he had ever seen. And he who had thought he would never wish to live with a woman had wanted Eleonore with him day and night.
He was bound to her. Whatever she did he would love her; he would never regret his marriage. And he could think thus while overlooking this carnage for which to a great degree her headstrong ways were to blame; he could still feel love for her, still be anxious for her, still never regret the day he had seen her and known she was to be his wife.
The dawn showed that the enemy had retired. The pack-horses minus their burdens wandered aimlessly among the bodies of fallen men.
The King descended the tree. What was left of his army rallied round him. They could not bury the dead but they could succour the wounded.
Then sadly they made their way into the valley where the Queen and her protectors received them with great sorrow.
Seven thousand fine soldiers had been slain and the army was without means of continuing the fight. The brief success at Phrygia was as though it had never been.
Louis and the French army were in as unhappy a state as Conrad and his Germans had been.
By the cooling streams of the Orontes they made fresh plans.
‘We dare not stay here,’ said Louis. ‘The enemy will return. They know our weak state. They will finish us completely.’
Eleonore was despondent. All those handsome men lost and with them the beautiful gowns and jewels which were her delight. She had no desire for this kind of adventure if she must appear dishevelled in a dirty gown. The adventure had been spoilt.
‘And can we travel in our present state?’ asked the Bishop of Langres. ‘What of our wounded?’
‘We must somehow manage to take them with us,’ said the King. ‘And to delay here is dangerous. We must march on and hope for succour. If we can get to Pamphilia we might make our way to Antioch.’
‘My uncle Raymond is the Governor of Antioch as you know,’ said the Queen. ‘We must reach Antioch and there we can nurse the wounded back to health and re-form the army.’
‘There is a chance,’ said Louis, ‘if we can get there before we are overtaken by the Arabs who will certainly pursue us. If they did, in our present sorry state we should stand little chance of survival.’
‘We shall do it,’ said Eleonore.
‘And if we fail,’ said the King, ‘we shall have died in Christ, for in battle with the infidel we have done His work and we shall know that it is His will.’
It was the Queen’s example rather than the King’s expression of acceptance of any fate which awaited him which spurred the survivors of that disastrous campaign to continue their march.
On they went to be harassed continually by marauding bands of Arabs. On one of these skirmishes Saldebreuil de Sanzay was captured. The Queen was desolate. The thought of her handsome constable in the hands of the infidel was unbearable. What would they do to him! It would doubtless be better for him if he had been killed. She could not wish it otherwise if the infidel should submit him to torture. She was more than a little in love with him as she was with several of the gallant men who surrounded her and was constantly comparing them with the monk-like Louis.
But the situation was too desperate for her to brood too long on the fate of others. They must make their way to Antioch without delay. At length famished, wretched, denuded of most of their
And even now with this horror all about him he could not regret his marriage. There was about her a quality which no other woman would ever have for him. He would never forget the first time they had met when he had thought her more beautiful than any creature he had ever seen. And he who had thought he would never wish to live with a woman had wanted Eleonore with him day and night.
He was bound to her. Whatever she did he would love her; he would never regret his marriage. And he could think thus while overlooking this carnage for which to a great degree her headstrong ways were to blame; he could still feel love for her, still be anxious for her, still never regret the day he had seen her and known she was to be his wife.
The dawn showed that the enemy had retired. The pack-horses minus their burdens wandered aimlessly among the bodies of fallen men.
The King descended the tree. What was left of his army rallied round him. They could not bury the dead but they could succour the wounded.
Then sadly they made their way into the valley where the Queen and her protectors received them with great sorrow.
Seven thousand fine soldiers had been slain and the army was without means of continuing the fight. The brief success at Phrygia was as though it had never been.
Louis and the French army were in as unhappy a state as Conrad and his Germans had been.
By the cooling streams of the Orontes they made fresh plans.
‘We dare not stay here,’ said Louis. ‘The enemy will return. They know our weak state. They will finish us completely.’
Eleonore was despondent. All those handsome men lost and with them the beautiful gowns and jewels which were her delight. She had no desire for this kind of adventure if she must appear dishevelled in a dirty gown. The adventure had been spoilt.
‘And can we travel in our present state?’ asked the Bishop of Langres. ‘What of our wounded?’
‘We must somehow manage to take them with us,’ said the King. ‘And to delay here is dangerous. We must march on and hope for succour. If we can get to Pamphilia we might make our way to Antioch.’
‘My uncle Raymond is the Governor of Antioch as you know,’ said the Queen. ‘We must reach Antioch and there we can nurse the wounded back to health and re-form the army.’
‘There is a chance,’ said Louis, ‘if we can get there before we are overtaken by the Arabs who will certainly pursue us. If they did, in our present sorry state we should stand little chance of survival.’
‘We shall do it,’ said Eleonore.
‘And if we fail,’ said the King, ‘we shall have died in Christ, for in battle with the infidel we have done His work and we shall know that it is His will.’
It was the Queen’s example rather than the King’s expression of acceptance of any fate which awaited him which spurred the survivors of that disastrous campaign to continue their march.
On they went to be harassed continually by marauding bands of Arabs. On one of these skirmishes Saldebreuil de Sanzay was captured. The Queen was desolate. The thought of her handsome constable in the hands of the infidel was unbearable. What would they do to him! It would doubtless be better for him if he had been killed. She could not wish it otherwise if the infidel should submit him to torture. She was more than a little in love with him as she was with several of the gallant men who surrounded her and was constantly comparing them with the monk-like Louis.
But the situation was too desperate for her to brood too long on the fate of others. They must make their way to Antioch without delay. At length famished, wretched, denuded of most of their
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