Writing for Fun
September 2019
The Childrens' Crusade - Jan Norman
It was summer of the year of our Lord, 1212. Time of the annual Lendit Fair held on the right bank of the Seine. Always a thriving affair this year had seen numbers swollen to many hundreds, mainly older children and young adults.
The run up to the Fair had been frenetic as usual, as merchants struggled to set up their wares in time for the big day but marred by persistent rumours of an imminent invasion, albeit only an army of children, which was spreading unease and disquiet.
At daybreak of the day of the Fair it began. An endless column of hot, exhausted children spilled into the streets of Paris from the surrounding countryside. The sheer numbers of ragged humanity begging or stealing sustenance upset everyone. The reason they were here? Stephen de Cloyes, a twelve year old shepherd boy from Charles. He had preached all the way from his home town to Paris gathering converts as he went: the young, the pious and impressionable. He claimed he had had a vision; God had told him to raise an army of children all of whom were to take the Crusaders oath and march to the Holy Lands. Their mission? To return to France the true cross of Christ which was at present in Jerusalem in the hands of the Saracens. They would carry no weapons. No blood was to be spilt. Their faith would open the gates. In fact he truly believed that the Mediterranean Sea would part miraculously so that the children could reach the Holy Lands on foot.
Stephen’s mission, after recruiting children in Paris, was to march to Versailles to seek an audience with the king of France, hopefully to gain royal sanction for his Crusade.
Forewarned should have meant being forearmed but the tales told by travellers had not been really taken seriously. That an unprepossessing twelve year old shepherd boy could possess such charisma and oratory skills that he could mesmerize the children of France and whether he was genuinely recruiting for God or bewitching them for Satan, depended on the religious persuasions of the listener.
Some worried parents in towns and villages between Charles and Paris, not so enamoured of the Pope’s view on life, began forcibly detaining their children to stop them joining the Crusade; the devout caught up in the religious fervour encouraged their children to join thinking it was God’s work.
Rich but ageing Parisian merchant Gilbert Delahey was devoted to God but more devoted to the success of his trading empire and passing a handsome trade and fortune on to a dutiful son. The trouble was his son Claude was a prig and a religious bigot. Seeing that he was prime fodder for Stephen’s propaganda he decided, when failing to elicit a promise from his son to stay away from hearing Stephen preach, locked him in the cellar.
However, Claude had escaped and now found himself kneeling in front of Stephen along with hundreds of other Parisian children praying hard.
‘God blast the boy!’ fumed Gilbert as the next day revealed a broken cellar trapdoor and an empty pallet. Bellowing for his journeyman and a couple of his strongest workers to accompany him he rushed out of his burgh and headed for the thick of the crowd where Stephen was preaching. ‘If we get split up you have my permission to use force, if you have to but bring home my son.’
Adele, in the yard, hearing the commotion grabbed hold of her husband's sleeve and demanded to know what was going on. Roughly shaking her off he growled as he headed for the gate, ‘That dolt of a boy of yours thinks he’s a grand Knights Templar or some such romantic rubbish. I’m off to stop him making a fool of himself.’
Adele was not so optimistic. She had a gut feeling, a premonition even, that after today she would never see her son again. Thinking quickly Adele grabbed her kitchen girl and demanded she fling together some food and clothes and make them fast in a cloth. She herself disappeared into the strong room and forced open her jewellery box.
An hour later a very red faced and out of breath Gilbert caught up with his son in the epicentre of the many hundreds of spellbound youth on their knees before Stephen. Dragging him, none too gently, to his feet he spun him to face him and demanded he return home this instant to face his punishment for defying his Father.
‘I will gladly return home with you Father but only to bid farewell to my Mother. I must leave before sunset to follow Stephen to the Holy Lands as I have taken the oath of a Crusader.’
Stunned Gilbert relinquished his hold on Claude, his arm returning to dangle limply by his side. He was too late, defeated by a squint eyed shepherd boy and his delusions. Gilbert knew that taking the Crusader oath was binding on every soul over fourteen years of age. Not to fulfil your obligation to God would mean excommunication.
About to set off herself to find Claude, Adele saw the yard gate open. There they stood. The faces of her beloved husband and son as came towards her told her everything. She ran forward and clasped Claude’s hands in hers.
‘You have taken the oath my son.’ Not a question so much as a statement.
He nodded but did not reply for fear of dissolving into tears and seeking solace in her embrace like the child he really was for all his fifteen summers.
Gulping hard she thrust the food bundle into his arms and pushed a small leather purse into his hand. Embracing him hard she kissed his cheek.
‘May God keep you safe and bless you for doing his work,’ and so saying choked down her emotions and turned and walked towards the kitchen door.
