London Folk Tales by Helen East

well to see where she had gone. Some say she slipped. Some say she jumped. All say she went in and never came up.
    So the girl and her father were left by themselves. And with riches aplenty they lived very well.

     
     
     
     

8
G ILBERT B ECKET’S
C RUSADE
    Gilbert Becket was a mercer, not a knight. He knew all about trading cloth, especially silk, but he didn’t know how to fight. Nor would he, normally, have wanted to.
    But a call had come from Pope Urban that the Holy Lands must be saved from the Infidel, and all lords of Christendom should leave local strife and unite in a new Just War. ‘God Wills It’, the word went out; ‘ Deus volt ’, the Crusader’s cry. All must ‘take the cross’ and make himself a ‘soldier of the Church.’
    Europe was whipped into a frenzy of fervour, princes and barons excited by promises of feudal fiefdoms, soldiers by dreams of rich pickings, and traders and travellers by hopes of safer shipping routes. Even pilgrims, who had always been guaranteed safe passage by Muslim rulers, were swayed by the spread of stories of massacres now taking place. But the deciding factors for many were the Papal promises. Indulgences for all participants; however sinful, they would go straight to heaven if they died. And financial incentives like the waiving of all debts for three years. A huge lure, since everyone assumed the Crusades could be done in one.
    It was this that drew Gilbert. He had just paid his issue fees, having finished his apprenticeship, and he was setting up his own business. Although he came from a wealthy mercer family, he wanted to stand on his own two feet. So he had borrowed a large amount from a money lender near the London Stone. Good rates, though high interest and punishing penalty clauses for default. Those didn’t worry Gilbert, because he knew the silk trade was booming. And with three years without interest he might even clear his debts!
    Besides, as his father pointed out, travel was good for traders. ‘It could be a chance to make personal contacts in some of the cities you pass through. Venice, of course, but also Ragusa, and maybe, even Jerusalem itself!’ he boomed enthusiastically. And if Old Becket was behind an idea, it was bound to be a sound one.
    The less sound reasons for leaving home, Gilbert kept to himself. He had no need of Papal indulgences because his peccadilloes were so minor, easily absolved at no great cost. Ever since he was fourteen he had kept his head down, doing nothing but work, learning his trade. And throughout this last year all he could hear was talk, talk, talk of the Holy War – the excitement and fun, and the glory to be won. Gilbert was young, and before he settled down he wanted a taste of the free life of a knight!
    He wasn’t the only one. His servant, Richard, whom he had known ever since he was born, was as boyishly eager as he was. They took the Cross together, making their vows as a pilgrim would, and joined a Norman baron’s entourage, setting off at once for France.
    Their first shock was the crossing. Neither had been in a ship before, and the sea was rough. So was the lifestyle once they arrived in France. Nothing was as Gilbert had imagined. Disgusted by the food, the sleeping quarters and the lack of washing facilities, and exhausted by army training and daily drills, he might not have managed at all if not for Richard, who was well-used to physical work, and eating whatever you got. Richard also had an endless store of jokes and anecdotes to cheer his master up, and that soon won them other friends.
    Slowly, as they travelled on, through France and into Italy, life improved. Although the journey was exhausting, the weather was good, and when people saw the crosses on their clothes and shields, many gave them fresh water, or little gifts of fruit.
    So at last they came to the great port of Venice. Gilbert was impressed, all the more so because here he stayed