Crusade

Sweyn played a significant role in the skirmish by using his prowess as a horseman to gallop across the bridge and leap the makeshift barricade on the southerly side. It was a dangerous manoeuvre; he was an easy target for the several archers who unleashed their arrows at him, two of which struck his shield while one glanced off the lamellar mail protecting his horse’s chest. He then turned and used his lance to stunning effect, impaling one of the sentries and creating a major diversion which allowed more of Robert’s men to storm the barricade. With Edwin at her side, Adela was in the thick of the supporting assault, hacking her way over the barrier in harmony with the best of Robert’s knights.

When we reached Toulouse, Count Raymond rode out to intercept us, less than pleased that we had breached his cordon sanitaire against the putrid fever. He was at the head of a body of men at least 500 strong.

When our two parties had approached within ten yards of one another, he halted his advance and bellowed a warning.

‘I am Raymond St Gilles, Count of Toulouse, Duke of Narbonne and Margrave of Provence. You are not welcome here. Our land is under dire threat from an epidemic of a deadly fever. I order you to turn round and go back north of the Tarn at Montauban.’

Robert shifted slightly in his saddle, clearly annoyed at such an inhospitable reception, but he chose not to respond in kind — and, specifically, not to recite his many lordly titles.

‘My Lord Count, I am Robert of Normandy. I am here with Prince Edgar of the royal house of Wessex and England. I am afraid we had no choice but to breach your cordon at Montauban. Your men did you great service, but we had to force the issue.’

‘I know who you are. In all other circumstances my welcome would be fulsome and my table yours, but you have travelled through the heart of the plague and I cannot permit you to enter Toulouse.’

Robert, resigned to the impasse, sat back in his saddle. In his way stood a large body of men with a leader who, by the look of him, was not often bested.

‘Very well, I understand your concerns. No one in our camp is ill; nevertheless, we will retreat into the forest and forage there for two weeks. If, at the end of that time, we remain clear of the fever, I will petition you once more to enter your city.’

Raymond of Toulouse was disarmed by Robert’s diplomatic compromise.

‘I will take you at your word, Robert of Normandy. I will return on the morning of the day after the full moon, and we will discuss this again.’

The Count posted sentries to ensure that we kept our bargain, and rode back to his city.

Once again, Robert’s growing acumen had defused a potentially fractious situation.

Two weeks later, precisely when he had said he would, Count Raymond approached our camp and sent in his physicians to monitor our well-being. Everyone had to be examined — in particular, removing their shirts so that they could be scrutinized for the telltale rash of the fever on the chest. When it came to the turn of Adela and Estrith, they had no hesitation in exposing themselves, although they did turn their backs to the rest of us.

In Estrith’s case, she had abandoned her nun’s habit and chosen to wear the plain male attire of a minor nobleman — plain leggings and shirt, covered by a long, flowing surcoat, but minus the armour and weapons. After confirmation that our entire retinue continued to enjoy robust health, we were allowed to accompany Raymond through the gates of Toulouse.

A fine city, much more like the affluent cities of southern Europe than those of the north, Toulouse reminded us of Sicily. Moorish influence from Spain was obvious in the architecture of the buildings, all of which had the pink hue of the clay building bricks inherited from Roman times.

The most impressive of all Toulouse’s fine buildings was the Cathedral of St Sernin, which was in an advanced stage of construction. It was one of the largest buildings we had ever seen, built over an ancient crypt which, we were told, was 600 years old and contained precious relics given by the Emperor Charlemagne as well as the remains of many saints, including St Sernin himself.

Count Raymond hosted a banquet in his citadel in honour of his guests that evening. It was a grand affair which was marred by a long litany of prayer, led by the Count both before and after the food, and the discreet counsel of the stewards, who told us that he disapproved of drunkenness.

The Count, although he had the frame and demeanour of a battle-hardened warrior, was clearly a religious zealot. Well into his fifties, he sat with his son, Bertrand, a man of about thirty, who was the image of his father and who, given the way he modestly sipped at his goblet of wine, seemed to be similarly devout. Robert and I agreed that our stay would not be a raucous one. I was abstemious, but Robert proceeded to ignore the advice of the stewards and imbibed the deep-red wine of the region liberally.