Crusader's Path

By Mary Ann Bernal

A redemptive crusade. A test of faith. A defiant love.

Driven by a quest for redemption, Etienne answers Pope Urban II’s call and joins the perilous Crusade led by Duke Robert of Normandy, aiming for Byzantium’s grandeur. Avielle, touched by Peter the Hermit’s words, commits to martyrdom after the brutal massacre at Mainz. In Constantinople, their paths converge, and amidst shared remorse, a tender love flourishes despite Avielle’s affliction. As Etienne beseeches the heavens for her recovery, pledging a monastic future, her health improves. Now, with Avielle on the mend, Etienne grapples with a heart-wrenching choice: uphold his sacred vow or yield to the call of his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Ann Bernal
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463807255

Mary Ann Bernal

Mary Ann Bernal is a distinguished alumna of Mercy College in Dobbs Ferry, NY, where she earned her degree in Business Administration. Her journey into the literary world reached a milestone with the 2009 publication of her debut novel in The Briton and the Dane series. Mary Ann’s repertoire extends beyond historical fiction, encompassing diverse genres, including a collection of contemporary short stories, a science fiction/fantasy novel, and thrilling action and adventure novellas.Her latest literary contributions include “Crusader’s Path,” a poignant redemption tale amidst the tumult of the First Crusade; “Forgiving Nero,” a compelling exploration of familial dynamics in Ancient Rome; and the “AnaRose” adventure series, chronicling the daring escapades of a museum curator turned relic hunter.A fervent advocate for the United States military since Operation Desert Storm, Mary Ann has actively participated in letter-writing campaigns and various support initiatives. Her dedication to the military community garnered attention on “The Morning Blend” show on KMTV, Omaha’s CBS affiliate, and an interview with the Omaha World-Herald. As a celebrated author, she has graced numerous reader blogs and promotional platforms with her presence. Mary Ann cherishes her life in Elkhorn, Nebraska, where she continues to inspire through her written works.

Book preview

The First Crusade

1096-1099

Duchy of Normandy

Sons of William the Bastard

Robert Curthose

William Rufus (King of England)

Henry Beauclerc

Caen

Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy

Aalis, love interest of Duke Robert

Argences

Etienne, knight and landowner

Isabella, wife of Etienne

Sebastian, overseer

Cateline, love interest of Etienne

Kingdom of France

King Philip I

Northern France

Amiens

Peter the Hermit, Christian Priest

Holy Roman Empire

Henry IV, Holy Roman Emperor

Cologne

Rolf, Alehousekeeper

Filbert, Rolf’s son

Avielle, Rolf’s niece

Leper Community

Brother Dacien, healer

Mentz

Jewish District

Gideon, merchant, moneylender

Rebecca, wife of Gideon

Rome, the Papal States

Pope Urban II

Byzantine Empire

Constantinople

Alexios I Komnenos, Emperor

Hospital

Brother Joseph, healer

Princes’ Army

Leaders

Baldwin of Boulogne

Bohemond of Taranto

Godfrey of Bouillon

Raymond of Toulouse

Robert of Flanders

Robert of Normandy

Stephen of Blois

Surgeons

Marcel, field hospital

Hugh, in the service of Duke Robert of Normandy

Soldiers

Tancred, in the service of Duke Robert of Normandy

Europe 1096

Roads of the Main Armies

Table of Contents

Characters

Europe 1096

Roads of the Main Armies

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-Two

Author Notes

About the Author

Glossary

The evening before a battle was unsettling. A myriad of thoughts ravaged the mind, wreaking havoc on the psyche while weighing the odds of victory over defeat.

It was a chilly night, the ebbing fires in need of rekindling. Meager cloaks provided little warmth, the dampness penetrating one’s bones.

Thin feathery white clouds floated across the moon and starry sky. The howling of nocturnal creatures pierced the soul, an omen of what was to come, but whose death to mourn?

The sound of nearby waves crashing against the jagged rocks of the daunting coastline had a soothing familiarity, the serenity reminiscent of a peaceful past.

As I traversed the muddy ground, a fine mist lingered in the air, a dense fog encroaching upon the earth. Limited visibility obscured the guards patrolling the perimeter.

The men huddled in groups; their voices muffled as I passed by. Not many were drinking as they will need their wits about them when it is time to fight. Some roll the dice, and some seek solace in the arms of the women who accompanied them, no matter where the road leads. And some remain alone, praying to God for their deliverance, hoping to calm their fears, accepting the will of their Savior.

There were no guards to challenge me as I left the encampment and headed towards the ridge of a cliff overlooking the sea. I had to think, to clear my mind, to dwell on what was to come: if I lost focus, if I hesitated, if I perished!

Alone in the darkness, listening to the surf’s serenade was invigorating. For a brief moment, the heaviness lifted, and I smiled for the first time in a very long time.

How did I arrive at this point in my life? I once had everything the world offered. Status, wealth, and Isabella, my adoring wife, who carries my child. Why was I not satisfied?

William the Bastard’s offspring had been fighting among themselves since the death of their father. Robert, the eldest son, inherited the Duchy of Normandy. However, the custody of England was given to the second surviving son, William Rufus, while the youngest son, Henry, received money. Each brother coveted what they did not have, and military intervention threatened the uneasy peace.

Once I had sworn fealty to Duke Robert, I went home to my vineyards in Argences, not wishing to linger at the licentious ducal court. I was unaware of the impression I had made upon William’s successor. The man came to my estate and refused to leave until I accompanied him back to Caen. Argences was a dozen or so miles away, and I could easily travel back and forth should the need arise, he had argued. Duke Robert was unrelenting in his seduction. He was my overlord to whom I had sworn allegiance. Nothing was amiss.

In all fairness, I did enjoy Duke Robert’s company, finding him witty and quite knowledgeable, which surprised me. He had fought in England, venturing as far north as the Scottish Lowlands and built a castle in Northern England, albeit to impress his father. He had not been lazy in my presence, nor was he feeble, but the rumors persisted.

Isabella kept in the shadows during Duke Robert’s visit. Things might have turned out differently if she had been more assertive, insisting on being present during our evening amusements. I cannot blame her as she did what she was told and retired to her chambers. Being a dutiful wife, she deserved a better husband than I.

It was never easy to acknowledge my faults, even in the confessional, and God knows I have always tried to be truthful. But can I be truthful to myself? I came here with Duke Robert of my own free will. What good was wealth without power, the ultimate aphrodisiac? I craved it and lost everything in its pursuit, and I would do so again.

If I outlast this conflict between the brothers, I must atone for my offenses against God, or must I? War, death, adultery, and sins too plentiful to mention have plagued mankind since the beginning of time. Forgive me, I am speaking as if the battle was lost, but we have yet to fight. Victory will be ours, victory without remorse. I chose my path, and guilt be damned.

My name is Etienne d’Argences, and I ask but one favor as you follow my story. Do not judge me harshly, for I was influenced by events not of my making.

Chapter One

Cologne

Holy Roman Empire

The Roman Empire had fallen, but remnants of its might and power laid scattered throughout all of Christendom. High upon the hill, overgrowth covered the ancient floors of a magnificent villa whose walls had long since crumbled. An esteemed soldier received the land from Julius Caesar as payment for years of faithful service. His descendants lingered after the legions had returned to Rome to defend the Empire against the invading barbarians. The decision to stay saved the bloodline for generations until a contagion destroyed what warriors could not. Word quickly spread that death awaited visitors to the palatial estate, isolating the fertile land and deeming the region uninhabitable.

As the leper population grew, they were ultimately expelled from the city by its terrified inhabitants. When the lepers claimed the mountain top, the citizens did not protest, since the poor creatures no longer threatened the populace. These lepers built a community and welcomed the afflicted with open arms. Over time, sick rooms were built to care for those in dire need. Soon after, Benedictine monks built a chapel, and timber cottages dotted the hillside. Courageous loved ones visited their diseased relations, bringing food and medicinal herbs. Abbeys and local churches distributed alms to the lepers to lessen their impoverishment. While not ideal, they were better off than most.

Avielle sat upon the old Roman wall that overlooked the city, watching the influx of travelers arriving for the trade fair. The chapel bell rang softly, a call to prayer, to praise God for His mercy, but Avielle was not in a pious mood. She had spent enough time on her knees, praying for the Lord to spare her father, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. She was thankful to Brother Dacien for the comfort given to him at the end.

It was during the burial when Avielle felt the Lord’s presence and paid heed to His words, to study the healer’s craft under Brother Dacien’s tutelage. Her uncle gave his permission willingly. What better place to keep his ward occupied? An alehouse was not a suitable setting to learn a trade. Uncle Rolf would not put her virtue at risk.

The lepers waved to Avielle as they approached the chapel. Her smile lifted their spirits, and her words were soothing. The community felt fortunate to have her in their midst, but Avielle was at a crossroads, unsure of her purpose. The brightly colored tents erected below depicted a world of opportunity and adventure, and love, while the people she cared for embodied misery and death.

Uncle might let me sell ale at his stall, Avielle thought.

She walked through the city gates, choosing the main thoroughfare that led to the market square where preparations were underway for the festivities. Her cousin had finished constructing their stall and was adjusting the vibrant awning when she came upon him.

Filbert, you are quite the craftsman. Uncle will be proud.

What do you want? asked Filbert, somewhat tersely while fiddling with the cumbersome fabric.

Why would you think that? Can I not visit my cousin?

If you are not assisting Brother Dacien, you are usually stirring up mischief somewhere, like the time you overturned the baker’s baskets, and the dogs ran off with the loaves. You are fortunate he was agreeable to flagons of wine as recompense.

I was in a hurry, and did not see him, and I did repent.

My father will not permit you to serve anyone, whether here or at the alehouse. Nor will he approve of you roaming freely through the streets alone, Filbert said in a softer tone.

You forget I am no longer a child!

I have not forgotten, and neither has my father. And if you do not wed soon, you might have to take the veil if your healing skills fail you.

There is no one to wed. If my father had not died… Avielle said as she turned her head so Filbert would not see her watery eyes.

Filbert kept working, mumbling beneath his breath when he cut his finger, becoming concerned by his cousin’s despair.

Avielle, what is bothering you? Do you no longer wish to care for the lepers? There will always be a place for you here. You are kin. Tell me what upsets you. My father gives wise counsel if you prefer speaking to him.

I beg forgiveness, Avielle said. I did not mean to burden you. It is hard to explain.

The cousins sat in silence at the back of the stall, mindful of the congested street. It did not take much effort to separate the newcomers from the local inhabitants by the way they dressed. The luxurious multi-colored fabrics denoted wealth, a sharp contrast to the drab woolen tunics worn by most citizens. Filbert held Avielle’s hand, a hopeful gesture to put her at ease. They laughed at the sight of a young lad chasing an errant pig that knocked down a merchant in its path. The man shouted at the boy as he brushed off the dust and went on his way.

I did not know your father very well. My childhood memories are of a talented minstrel who traveled to far-off lands much to my father’s displeasure. I was too young to be of much use at the alehouse. When I next saw my uncle, you were with him, a quiet child, not more than six summers. If your father sent messages to my father, I was unaware. It was the sickness that brought you and your father back. He wanted to be buried where he had been born. If it were not for Brother Dacien…

We would have been outcasts, roaming the land until my father perished, Avielle interrupted. I am grateful to you and my uncle for offering me succor, and for being agreeable when Brother Dacien suggested I learn the healer’s trade. It was my wish to give comfort to those poor creatures who had the same ailment. I truly believe it was God’s will.

But after witnessing such sorrow, you are disheartened. Your memories of your father are of laughter and joy, which is a minstrel’s purpose, Filbert said. You have seen many cities, have tasted different foods, and have entertained Kings. Will you serve Brother Dacien, or would you seek a healer’s position in a noble’s household? I cannot envision you living in a nunnery, but living with a husband. Is this what troubles you?

You are wise beyond your years, dear cousin, Avielle said. Is it sinful to want the life I once had? I grow weary of death.

Spend as much time at the fair as you can. Be among the revelers. I have friends who could accompany you.

I will heed your counsel and speak to Brother Dacien, Avielle said as she jumped off the ledge. Tell uncle the fault is mine for keeping you.

Avielle embraced Filbert before she left. The heaviness in her heart had abated for now. Taking part in the festivities would brighten her day. She walked with a lively gait, smiling at the passers-by, humming her favorite tune.

She saw him standing in front of the silversmith’s dwelling. Avielle assumed he was a merchant by his clothing. He appeared somewhat older than she was but not as old as her cousin. He was pleasant to look at, which was what she did, staring boldly, and blushing when their eyes met. She held his gaze and did not move.

I did not mean to stare, Avielle said.

It pleases me you did. I am called Gideon, and you are?

Avielle, and this city is my home.

I am not from these parts. Would you be willing to show me your city? I would be forever in your debt.

Avielle felt the heat rise in her cheeks. He was near enough to touch. She wanted to share a meal, to be in his company, to discover his true intentions, but suppressed the urge to behave inappropriately. Besides, it was presumptuous on his part to make such a request. What would uncle think? And Brother Dacien. Neither of them would give their consent. And Filbert would defend her honor.

I would like that, Gideon.

What are you doing? She thought. He could be a brigand or worse! Withdraw your offer, you dolt!

You are most kind, my lady, Gideon said. But I do not wish to detain you. Until tomorrow, at midday?

Avielle hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Should she recant her proposition? Surely, he would understand? But she was intrigued. And she wanted to go. Why? What made him different from the men she had met before? She might be innocent, but she was not naïve.

At midday, by the pond, Avielle said just as Gideon was about to speak.

Avielle smiled before hurrying away, leaving him standing in the busy street.

*

Gideon did not continue his journey until Avielle was lost from his view. He reached the Jewish quarter without incident, thanking the God of Abraham for his safe deliverance. Despite being persecuted throughout the ages, his people were skilled healers, lawyers, merchants, and teachers. Gideon had amassed a small fortune selling exotic spices at local markets along the River Rhine, but money lending became his principal livelihood upon his father’s death.

While most members of the Jewish community refused to conceal their religious beliefs, Gideon did not openly disclose his lineage. He was born and bred in Mentz, but he had rarely stayed in the city after he came of age, fancying the traveler’s anonymity whilst preferring to be mistaken for a Christian. But his father’s passing changed everything as he took possession of his childhood home.

No one in Gideon’s community was aware of his blasphemy. If his father had known, he had taken his son’s disgrace to his grave. And now it had become tiring to maintain the ruse. He would have preferred to stay at one of the inns or even at the Abbey’s guest quarters, but appearances deemed otherwise.

The merchants had secured rooms in the buildings surrounding the synagogue, which he avoided, fearing an unplanned meeting with the Rabbi. Gideon had always resented the bigotry. He wanted to be treated like everyone else, to be accepted for the person he was and not condemned because of the God he worshipped. Early on, he knew he had to choose between Christianity and Islam. The Latin West and Islamic East despised the Jews, but the Christians worshipped the God of his people, and Gideon was more comfortable living among the disciples of Christ.

Gideon recognized traders from Mentz and shared pleasantries before finding the proprietor and his assigned room. He thought of Avielle as he reclined on the bed, his tired bones appreciating the rest. She was unlike any of the women he had seduced, believing her youthful appearance probably added to the mystique. Bedding her had been foremost on his mind, but that was no longer his intent. Avielle was of age to wed, yet she was not a Jewess, and with his freedom curtailed, setting up a household in Mentz required the Rabbi’s blessing.

You are getting ahead of yourself. Do not be in such a hurry to change your life. You just buried your father. I think a drink is in order.

Gideon slipped out the back entrance without being seen. He knew the ins and outs of the city streets after years of trading and found his favored tavern in record time. Rolf was serving flagons, and the table in the backroom was vacant. A perfect end to an interesting day.

*

Brother Dacien was grinding herbs while Avielle tore linen strips used to cover the disfiguring sores. While she tended to her father, the thought of becoming infected did not cross her mind. She truly believed God protected her from the pestilence. Unfortunately, she no longer assumed she was invincible and dreaded the day her suspicions were confirmed. Years might pass after exposure before the appearance of untoward signs, which had happened to her father. They were uncertain as to where and when he became afflicted, and by all accounts, she should have been stricken at the same time. Avielle felt like a condemned prisoner, anxious for death to end the suffering.

Two men lay dying in the adjoining rooms. Brother Dacien did his best to ease the pain, but neither would see another full moon. Those who were able tended to the animals and gardens. With the aid of the priests and other benefactors, the small community was self-sufficient. The only drawback was not being able to go to market day or fairs or feast day celebrations. While ostracized by the city inhabitants, they did receive compassionate care, and they called Brother Dacien a saint, and Avielle was an angel.

Is there something you wish to tell me, Brother Dacien said. I sense you have been despondent.

How? Avielle whispered.

Your eyes speak the truth through your smiles. You have chosen a hard life for one so young. I understand if you want to leave.

I do not want to leave, not yet, Brother Dacien. If I have your permission, I would like to partake in the fair, but I would be here all morning, just the afternoon to visit the stalls and be back by nightfall, so there is no need to worry. I can seek permission from Uncle Rolf if you wish.

There is no need.

Brother Dacien opened the small chest sitting on the table, retrieving a coin that he put in Avielle’s hand.

Consider this a gift for everything you have done for those less fortunate. I am sorry it cannot be more.

I am at a loss for words. I do not expect payment. It is I who should be paying you for teaching me the healer’s craft, Avielle said. And it is almost midday. Do I have your permission to leave?

Brother Dacien nodded his approval and smiled as Avielle bolted out the door.

*

The market square was exceptionally crowded. Stalls filled with an assortment of goods lined the streets. There were fabrics of varying colors and texture. Leather belts, footwear, pouches, gloves, and tunics adorned the stands. Beaver, fox and sable attire enticed prospective patrons wishing to display their prosperity. And a collection of nightwear and undergarments embarrassed many a maiden.

Not to be overlooked, the local tradesmen spruced up their stands, covering the tables with a dyed cloth and often giving demonstrations of their handiwork. Carpenters carved toy wagons for children, and silversmiths designed rings and bracelets before awestruck onlookers. Candlemakers, cobblers, and tanners had their fair share of enthusiasts, but it was the glassblowers and embroiderers that had the biggest audience.

Savory smells carried by a summer