Well in Time Read online

  “This is, I suppose, an exaggeration. But there can be no doubt—the two children and their fellows were on their way across the open sea, embarked on an adventure even greater than the one they imagined.

  “The first thing that befell them was a terrible storm on the second day out, which drove two of the ships onto the rocks of a small island off the coast of Sardinia. Over a thousand children were spilled into the stormy surf and perished before the horrified eyes of children aboard the vessel, which managed to slip by the obstacle unscathed.

  “I know this because it is written in a first-person account by Blanche herself, which is still in my possession. In fact, it lies in my safe at this moment. She wrote this statement when she finally returned to France, and she swore an oath before God as to its veracity when she presented it as testimony to the archbishop in St. Denys in 1215.

  “I have here a copy of it in modern French, and I would like to read you a fragment of it, so that you can hear for yourself the earnest voice of this young woman. It will move you greatly, I think, if you remember that at the time she experienced these things, she was only eleven years old. And when she wrote of them, she was but fourteen.”

  The Count stopped his long narrative for a moment and emerged from the shadows of his chair to rummage for his glasses on the table beside him. Then he picked up a small volume bound in maroon leather and opening to a spot where an embossed leather marker was inserted, commenced to read.

  3

  The Story of Blanche de Muret

  We had been two days at sea when a terrible storm came from the north. The waves became like mountains and the ship began to dip and pitch most perilously. Many, myself included, became ill and the ship soon stank of vomit.

  All were frightened beyond consolation. Our tears were mixed with our prayers to the Virgin, but Our Lady seemed deaf to our pleas. Night fell and the storm worsened. Lucky were they who, tossed violently in the hold, struck their heads and lay insensible, for they were the only ones to pass that night unconscious.

  As for me, I clung to my brother Godfrey and would not have released him even had the ship overturned and deposited us in the deep sea. I made it my one goal to survive that night with my brother still in my arms and by the Grace of God, I accomplished it.

  Morning came, if such a dark day could be so called, and our situation was not improved. Still, the storm raged and now but two of our nine sister ships were visible through the ragged mists and flying spray. What became of the other seven I shall never know. God grant that the souls therein found happier ports than those of the three beating through that morning’s storm!

  About midday, we sighted land very close off the leeward bow. The storm had only worsened during the morning, and the wind howled so loudly that we could not hear our own prayers as they issued from our lips. Godfrey and I were on deck, as I could no longer bear the stench below and preferred death by drowning to another moment in that infernal region.

  I was, therefore, in plain view of our two sister ships and could see that their situation was perilous. The wind was becoming ever more powerful, and despite the desperate scurrying of their crews about the decks and riggings, I could see that they were set on a collision course with the rocky shores of a small island.

  With what terrible fascination did I watch the fates of our comrades played out! What toys in the hands of God are we all! If ever the vanity of Man claims for itself Supremacy, let this story be read as testimony to the contrary.

  All that happened was inevitable, and yet, it happened without hurry, as if all of Time had slowed to show this terrible scene in all its vividness. Slowly but steadily, the two ships yielded to the thundering winds and gripping tides. At last, with a final hesitation on the very brink of disaster, first one and then the other of the ships reared on the waves, hovered over the rocks as if suspended on strings, and then crashed down.

  Their hulls were broken like eggs against the side of a bowl. Like yolks, out flooded the hoarded treasure from within, the fourteen hundred souls who, until that moment, had been our comrades in this great adventure.

  I watched, helpless and stupefied with horror, as the hulls again and again were dashed upon the rocks, until they broke up completely and sank. For many minutes, the water was filled with the flailing bodies of my friends. And then, as if these two ships and their passengers had never been, the sea became once more a faceless cauldron of boiling waters and all trace of the wrecks was washed away.

  I have but one prayer of thanks to offer regarding this incident—that my little brother Godfrey saw nothing of it. He passed the entire time with his face buried in my lap, or I doubt not that his little brain of only nine years experience also would have broken like an egg, and he should have been from that time forward a lunatic from having witnessed so great a grief.

  It was not until nightfall that the storm began at last to abate. So desperately ill, bruised, hungry, and exhausted were we all that we were beyond thought of giving prayers of thanksgiving for our deliverance from that fearful day. We simply lay down where we were, and as we no longer had to hold onto something in order not to be thrown about, went instantly and soundly asleep, I with Godfrey still wrapped firmly in my arms.

  It took several days to recover from the storm. The ship’s crew was busy all the day, making necessary repairs to the rigging. Below in the hold, the situation continued desperate. Many of the children had terrible injuries from having been dashed about during the storm. I saw one poor girl with the bone of her forearm sticking through her skin. Some remained sick despite the calming of the seas, and a few, God rest their souls, had given up their lives during that terrible cataclysm, whether from fear or injury I know not. These we sewed into simple shrouds. The men of God who accompanied us prayed over them, and they then were committed to the deeps.

  Because of these confusions and complications, I do not now remember for how many days we sailed following the storm. It was with surprise then, as much as relief, when I went one day to the deck and spied land ahead. Perhaps I had come to believe that we would journey on that hellish vessel for all eternity!

  News of landfall spread among our ranks. Then what great rejoicing there was that we had survived our terrible sea voyage and come at last to our sacred goal, the land of the Holy Sepulcher of Our Lord!

  §

  How cruelly shortlived was our joy! For no sooner had we docked in this foreign port, which we soon discovered was not in Palestine but in Egypt, than we were herded together like so many sheep and removed from the docks as prisoners!

  Many among us were hopeful, assuming the officials had made a mistake that would soon be rectified. But one of the men of God who accompanied us confided to me that he feared something much worse had befallen us, and in short time he was proven correct.

  What our captors now revealed to us was so cruel that it seemed it must break our hearts and kill us all, there in the streets of that strange land. For they could no longer contain their boastful secret but rather jeered at us, making a mockery of our faith. For what do you imagine could be more dispiriting than to learn that our good mentors, Porcus and Ferreus, who had so kindly supplied us with ships for our passage to the Holy Land, had actually sold us into slavery!

  Their intentions all along had been to divide the fleet, sending some to Constantinople, some to Alexandria, and some to Morocco. The captains, too, had conspired in this. I was stunned with the coldness and callousness of this plan and of the hearts of these so-called Christian men. May God have mercy on their souls.

  §

  Now our poor band that had suffered so greatly and with such courage had still mightier sufferings to bear. So exhausted were we and so shocked by our fate, that we no longer could weep for ourselves but stood huddled together like miserable sheep awaiting slaughter.

  We were not even allowed water to drink much less to bathe in but were hurried straight from the docks through the streets of a stinking city, which I did not learn until lat
er was the ancient port of Alexandria. You might imagine that merely to be on terra firma again would be cause for rejoicing after so terrible a voyage, but this was not so. The enormity of our plight was just beginning to dawn on us, and our hearts were nearly stopped with fear and grief.

  So in this sadly degenerate and filthy state, we arrived by winding ways at a square in the heart of the city. All about us were buildings of antique manufacture, such as one sees at home in the south of France where the Romans have been. At one end of the square, a high platform of stone was raised. It, too, was of ancient construction and the priests among us recognized this place all too soon. We had been brought to the ancient slave market, there to be auctioned off like cattle!

  Only then did my true terror begin. I had thought that the sea voyage could never be surpassed but I was mistaken. For now I realized the greatest horror of all: that in all likelihood, I would be parted from my brother, never to see him again. This was a cruelty too heavy to bear. I collapsed in the street insensible.

  How long I lay thus, I do not know. When I returned unto myself, however, I knew I had been carried to a different place, for now the high auction platform was to my left, not straight ahead. And what did my miserable eyes fall upon the moment they blinked open upon this cruel world again but my brother, my precious Godfrey, standing upon that block, stripped naked as the day he was born, his head hanging down in misery, humiliation and terror!

  I shrieked a sound such as Hell Itself must make. I lost complete sense of myself as a highborn lady and became in that instant a clawing animal. I had but one thought and that was to reach his side. But all my efforts were in vain, for while I lay in stupor, manacles had been placed about my ankles and I was chained to a long line of my miserable fellows.

  That the mind does not simply break at such a moment is truly a testament to the human spirit, its strength, and will to live. As for me, my spirit did not break but it bent almost to cracking there in the slave market of Alexandria.

  I watched in shock too deep for thought as my brother, my precious friend and my holy charge, was carried off into slavery by an Arab in a flowing white gown. A more vigilant person than I would have attempted to remember every detail of that scene, in hopes of later gaining information of his whereabouts. But I, a hopeless girl of tormented spirit, saw only my sweet brother’s face, filled with terror and longing. He looked straight at me, reaching out his little arms, as he was picked up and carried away into the crowd.

  §

  How long I awaited my turn on the auction block I cannot say. It may have been only minutes or it may have been hours. I had become utterly insensible to my own person. Horror had blocked every part of my mind. I only know that I came out of a dull stupor to find myself being led, free at last of manacles, onto the stone porch.

  I was one of ten girls who were sold as a lot. The bidding did not last long and I assume we went for a low price. And small wonder! I cannot conceive that a more unpromising lot of young women existed in all of Christendom! We had not bathed since long before embarking from Marseilles. We had been ill, rolled about in our own vomit, battered and blown until every hair was knotted like fine lace, and our fair skin was chapped and besmeared. Perhaps one can forgive the Infidel for treating us like animals, for that certainly is how we must have looked!

  §

  We again were chained together, this time by our wrists, and herded through the streets of that most foul and unwelcoming city. The stench of rotting garbage and feces in the streets might have overpowered us had we not, by this time, become indifferent to such horrors.

  At the bottom of a particularly foul street, we came to the quays. There we were thrust rudely into a small boat, which set sail immediately up river, the wind and tide being right at that evening hour.

  I do not remember a single moment of that voyage up the great River Nile to Cairo. We remained collapsed in a heap in the bottom of the boat, too exhausted and too dispirited to move. How we passed the night, whether moored or moving with the wind, I know not. Nor how many days we passed in the journey upriver. I remember nothing of this time but the terrible ache of my heart, as if I had been mortally wounded there, and the picture, repeated many times an hour in my fevered brain, of my brother’s face as he was torn away from me forever.

  At last, we came to the great city of Cairo and were loaded without ceremony into a two-wheeled cart drawn by two sturdy donkeys. Again, we were paraded through the streets of the city. Even in my disarray, I could not help but notice that this was a very different city from Alexandria.

  Here were prosperous shops and the great bustle that comes with a city involved in successful commerce. The people on the streets in their long Musulman garb were clean and handsomely groomed. As we advanced further into the city, I became aware that the buildings were becoming ever grander and more beautiful. Yet I was beyond wondering whence I was being delivered.

  At last we were dumped unceremoniously before great gates set in a high wall. Our jailor paid the carter and turned to speak with the gatekeeper. Then we were led along the wall to a small side door and there admitted.

  §

  Imagine my surprise, for I had expected to be thrust into a dingy cell, there to rot away captive as so many stories of captured Crusaders had told. When the door opened, however, and we were herded through it, I found myself in an earthly Paradise!

  Not since the heavenly beauty of my native Languedoc had I seen such lush and fruitful gardens. In very fact, these gardens were more beautiful than the most perfect garden of France. Here were green grass, flowering shrubs and vines, and palm trees casting deep shaggy shade upon promenades tiled in brightest blue and yellow. Fountains splashed invitingly at every turn. Beds of flowers were mathematically laid out to form geometric designs in brilliant colors. Birds, both in cages and free in the trees, made a merry din amidst the lush foliage.

  For all that I was tired beyond measure and hungry beyond caring, I could not keep my amazement captive. Despite myself, I smiled with delight.

  I speculated that we might have been sold into the household of the great Sultan of Egypt himself, Caliph Malek Kamel. This, I reasoned, would be a great blessing as he was rumored in France, even among his enemies, to be a man of learning. It was even said that he had studied during many years of his youth in the University of Paris, but I do not know if this is so.

  We were brought through this paradisiacal garden to a beautiful building of white stone, graced by a long arcade of low, pointed arches. We passed through doors carved with delicate designs, down corridors paved in cut stones in many precious colors. At the end, we were presented to a guard who stood before polished doors and there, having removed our iron cuffs, our jailor left us.

  The guard removed a large key from the folds of his garment and this he inserted into a huge antique lock that turned effortlessly and silently. Slowly the big doors swung open to reveal an antechamber of great sumptuousness. Here stood another man as guard. We were passed into his keeping and the doors were shut and locked behind us.

  The second guard herded us forward through heavy curtains wrought in curious, barbaric designs, and behind which was revealed a large room filled with low divans and fat cushions, placed directly on a floor covered in layer upon layer of wondrous carpets. Upon these furnishings reclined or sat many women, all of them dark of eye and hair and all wondrously plump. They languished there in various states of undress and I wondered that the approach of the guard caused no stir among them whatsoever.

  The nature of this second guard was very curious and it was not for many days that I learned the reason for this. We had been delivered, it became apparent, not into the dank confines of an Infidel prison but into the soft and feminine boudoir of the women of the house. We were in very fact now the denizens of a seraglio!

  §

  We sadly bedraggled ten were immediately engulfed in a welcoming way by the women of the harem, and the guard disappeared behind the curtains again. We were
obviously a wonder to these women, dirty, ill-kempt, and probably stinking as we were. They plucked at our matted hair and pinched our poor bruised arms, chattering the while in a barbaric tongue that sounded like the purest babel.

  While there was much laughter at our expense—and well we must have deserved it—still I felt a certain maternal regard from these foreign women, for they were not rough or rude with us. My eyes fell upon a plate of food lying upon a low table beside one of the divans. My look must have been most predatory, for one of the women, following my glance, gave me a look of great understanding and immediately offered the dish to me and my fellows.

  I fear we devoured every morsel on that plate and searched the room with our eyes for more. We had not eaten more than a handful of dried dates since coming to that shore, and we were faint with hunger. The women proffered us food and water until it was clear, by their distressed looks and pattings of the belly, that they feared we would be taken ill if we ate more.

  Our strength somewhat restored to us, the ladies now ushered us, en masse, through a series of twisting corridors and brought us at last to a bath house. Here, they helped us from our clothing, if such those poor matted and torn tatters could still be called. Each rag was consigned, by agency of fingertips, and with noses wrinkled in disgust, to a large basket which, when the procedure was complete, was borne from the room by a servant, presumably to be burned.

  Now began a ritual that, though administered by the hands of the Infidel, remains still in my memory as one of the sweetest moments of my existence. The women cooed and clucked over our poor thin, pale bodies, still innocent of women’s hair, as they slowly lowered us into tubs of steaming water and scrubbed us from our topmost head hair to the soles of our feet. Our nails were pared and cut. Our hair washed and combed. Even our teeth were scrubbed with brushes.

  When we were clean as the day our mothers birthed us, still another treat awaited us, for they now, once again in a giggling, jolly mob, escorted us into the neighboring room where steam rose in soft white billows through pierced marble grates in the floor. Here we, as a body, reclined upon thick white towels, turning ourselves like meat on a spit until our bodies were pink as the summer roses of Muret.