LIII Curthose at the Crusade
In the autumn of 1095, a little man, of mean aspect and eccentric manners, arrayed in a coarse woollen mantle, and mounted on a mule, rode about Europe, exhorting Christians to arm for the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre. Sometimes he preached in a church, or at the market-cross; at others, under a tree by the wayside; and wherever he went people crowded round him, hung on his eloquent words, and seemed delighted if they could touch the hem of his mantle, or pluck a hair from the mane of his mule. This remarkable man was known as Peter the Hermit, who had recently visited Jerusalem as a pilgrim, and vowed to deliver the Holy Land from the domination of the Turks.
The preaching of Peter the Hermit was marvellously successful. Peasant and peer alike confessed the grandeur of his idea; and, as the conquest of England by the Normans had inspired feudal warriors with a desire for adventurous enterprise, multitudes expressed their willingness to take part in a crusade. Many men of princely rank, among whom the chief was Godfrey de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, assumed the cross, alienated their possessions, and mustered armies to fight in Palestine. At length the idea which was agitating all Christendom, penetrating to the castle of Rouen, excited the ardent imagination of Robert Curthose, and stirred the somewhat sluggish blood of Edgar Atheling.
Both princes resolved to take part in the Holy War. But a serious obstacle presented itself. Money was necessary, and neither the heir of the Conqueror nor the heir of the Saxon kings had the means of defraying their expenses. The difficulty, however, was overcome. Rufus, who was glad to hear of his brother’s wish to leave Europe, agreed to furnish ten thousand marks on condition of being put in possession of Normandy for five years; and Curthose, having received the sum, made his preparations, and set up his white banner embroidered with gold.
In spite of his faults, few men of that period were more popular than the Norman duke; and, eager to fight under a chief so brave and generous, a goodly band of warriors, led by feudal barons of great name, came around his standard. Aubrey de Vere, Everard Percy, Girard Gourney, Conan Montacute, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and Stephen, Earl of Albemarle, were among those who attended the Conqueror’s heir. Edgar Atheling, who was on the point of setting out for Scotland to dethrone Donald Bane, and seat his youthful nephew on the Scottish throne, did not accompany his friend. But he promised to join Curthose in the Holy Land, with a host of Saxons, which he was about to lead against the Scottish usurper.
Meanwhile, Curthose, at the head of his army, and attended by his chaplain, Arnold de Rohés, made his way eastward, met the pious Godfrey de Bouillon, and other pilgrim-princes, under the walls of Constantinople, and, after causing much alarm to the Emperor Alexis, crossed the Bosphorus, and marched towards Nice.
No sooner was Curthose on Asiatic soil than his valour and prowess excited general admiration. At the siege of Nice he repelled the fierce onset of the Sultan’s cavalry; at the battle of Dogorgan he performed prodigies of valour, made the most magnificent charge of the day, spurring into the midst of the foe, with his banner flying and his sword flashing, and cutting down three Emirs with his own hand; at Antioch he led the van of the Crusaders, seized the bridge, defended by towers masked with iron, and during one of the subsequent skirmishes when fiercely attacked by a gigantic Saracen, who figured as chief in command, he cleft him with his battle-axe from crown to chest.
“Pagan dog!” exclaimed Curthose, as the Saracen fell lifeless to the ground; “I devote thy impure soul to the powers of hell.”
At Laodicea, Curthose was joined by Edgar Atheling. Faithful to his promise, the Saxon prince, after seating his nephew on the Scottish throne, brought the flower of the Saxon race to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. Side by side, like brothers, Curthose and Atheling marched to Jerusalem; side by side they fought at the siege of the Holy City; and side by side, in the hour of victory, they scaled the walls, Saracens bearing back in terror before the Norman’s falchion and the Saxon’s axe.
After taking possession of Jerusalem, the Crusaders assembled for the purpose of electing a king; and it is understood that Curthose might, if he had chosen, worn the crown of Jerusalem. However, Curthose declined the high honour, which fell to the lot of Godfrey de Bouillon; and, after taking part in the battle of Ascalon, where, at the head of the European cavalry, he broke the Saracens’ ranks, penetrated to their centre, and seized the Moslem standard, he left the Holy Land, and returned to Europe.
When Curthose was at Palermo, on his way home, Odo of Bayeux breathed his last. The Norman duke, having buried his uncle in St. Mary’s Church, pursued his way, and found himself quite at home among the Normans, whose families had been settled by warlike adventurers in Southern Italy. All these Norman warriors treated the heir of the great William with high honour; and all their daughters manifested interest in a hero who had won such fame as a Champion of the Cross. But of all the Normans of Southern Italy, none showed Curthose so much hospitality as William, Count of Conversano, a kinsman of the Guiscards, founders of the Norman dynasty in Naples.
The Count of Conversano was the most powerful lord in Lower Apulia. His possessions extended along the shores of the Adriatic, from Otranto to Bari. His castle was situated on an eminence, amid olive groves, and was replete with all those means for rendering life pleasant which the feudal system brought into existence. Curthose thought Conversano a terrestrial paradise, and was delighted with his host’s fine hounds, choice hawks, and mettled steeds; but, above all, he was delighted, charmed, and fascinated with his host’s daughter, Sybil, who was still in her teens, and as beautiful as she was young.
It could not be concealed that Curthose was verging on fifty, and that Sybil was just seventeen. But that was no conclusive objection to a match. In fact, such fame as that of a Crusader, and such rank as Duke of Normandy, were strong recommendations; so, when Curthose told his enamoured tale, Sybil smiled on her lover; and, ere long, the daughter of the Count of Conversano was led to the altar, and became Duchess of Normandy.
Even after his marriage Curthose found himself too comfortable to move. Perhaps he was averse to change the splendour of Conversano for the irksome poverty of Rouen. At all events he lingered in the scene of his courtship, and among the olive groves on the shores of the Adriatic wasted months, which, if judiciously spent, might have secured him a duchy and assured him a crown.