GOOD FORTUNE AT LAST! GOD BE PRAISED!
For seven days our army has been tearing itself apart. All over the island there were fistfights and cudgelings, insults flying, petty thefts. A few men went off on their own, wandering along the foreshore; some got down on their knees, praying and singing.
No wonder the Doge doesn’t want us on the Rialto. This ragged army of twelve thousand men, short of food and drink, starved of women, miles from home.
But this afternoon, on this fifteenth day of August, our new leader Marquis Boniface de Montferrat arrived in Venice at last.
His boat was awash with flowers and he was escorted by four Venetian councillors. Like us, they believe the marquis is the answer to their prayers.
A huge crowd gathered to greet him, and as soon as he stepped ashore, the marquis spoke to us.
“I am very glad to be here,” he said. “At last! Thank you for being so patient!”
We all laughed. And something, something anxious, dissolved inside me.
Marquis Boniface glanced to left and right, smiling and nodding, and for a moment I thought he was looking me in the eye. He has quite long black hair, and a well-trimmed moustache and beard.
“I will meet the Doge tomorrow,” the marquis announced, and his eyes flashed. “And I promise you, you men—God’s knights! God’s squires! God’s men!—I will make a deal with him.”
At this, many people clapped and cheered, and I saw Serle holding Kester right up so that he could see the marquis.
“In the name of God, and the name of good sense, I will make a deal,” the marquis repeated. “An army can’t fight on an empty stomach. An army must have ships.”
Around me, everyone growled in approval.
“Tomorrow,” the marquis called out, “I will take our six envoys to press our case. At my second meeting with the Doge, I will have with me not only Cardinal Capuano but the oldest knight and youngest knight in this entire army. I’ve instructed my squires to ride into each camp and seek them out. I will strike the best possible bargain.” The marquis tightened his right hand into a fist and punched his breastbone. “In the meantime,” he called out, “let it be clear I will accept no indiscipline. None whatsoever. You know the punishments.” The marquis raised his other hand and clasped them both above his head. “God wills this crusade!” he shouted. “Deus lo volt! God wills it!”
All around me, people began to call out, “God be praised! God wills it! God with us!”
After this, the marquis mounted a Barb stallion and rode down to his camp, a mile south from ours.
Sometimes, after a thunderstorm, the face of the exhausted earth is tear-stained but fresh and fragrant, full of hope. That’s how it felt this evening on Saint Nicholas.