Now they were victorious and glowing with the triumph of conquerors, rejoicing in the spoils of battle, for they had gained not only a victory over the Infidel but some of his treasure.

There was feasting and revelry in the camp that night.

The Bishop of Langres commented that such an army could have taken Constantinople.

“Nay,” countered Louis. “We came here to expiate our sins, not to stand in judgment or punish the Greeks. When we took up the cross, God did not put into our hands the sword of His justice. Sinners such as Manuel Comnenus will face God on Judgment Day. We are here to fight the Infidel, and our aim is to set up Christianity throughout the world.”

Much as Louis hated war, he was triumphant on that night. “God is telling us that He is pleased with what we are doing in His cause,” he said.

There were songs of rejoicing in the camp—many of them glorifying the battle and the bravery of the men.

“This is what they need,” I told Louis. “You see how wise I was to bring the minstrels with us.”

He was not sure. He thought the time should have been spent praying and giving thanks to God.

I laughed at him. I knew I was right.

If only our triumph could have continued; but the fortunes of war change suddenly.

We were on the march again. We knew that very soon there would be another encounter with the enemy. They would have gathered together their scattered forces, and those proud people would wish to avenge their recent defeat.

There was a conference among the advisers.

Thierry Galeran pointed out that the saddlehorses which were necessary to carry our finery were an encumbrance. This was a reproach to me. I did not think it necessary to explain my reasons to such a man. He said that, as we were such an unwieldy cavalcade, it would be a good idea to split up and that I with my ladies should go on ahead.

“We will need soldiers to protect them,” said Louis.

“We can send a small force with them.”

“Our best troops will have to go to defend the ladies,” insisted Louis.

Galeran replied that we had exposed ourselves to danger by coming and if the best troops must accompany us, they should take us to a plateau which overlooked the land through which the army would have to pass. They would therefore be in a position to view the advancing army and if the fight was going against us they could hasten to the rescue of those fighting below.

This was agreed and at Pisida we split up and I, with my ladies and a troop of the best guards in the army, went on in advance.

The countryside was so beautiful as we came into the valley of Laodicea. The sun was warm and we were all hot and tired. I had rarely seen such an enchanting spot. Waterfalls gushed from the hillside, and exotic flowers bloomed among the grass. There was a certain amount of shade from the bushes.

“We will tarry here for a while,” I said.

The commander of the guards came to me and respectfully pointed out that the King’s orders had been that we encamp on the plateau where we could have a good view of the surrounding country.

I could see the plateau in the distance. It looked stark and uninviting.

I said: “I insist that we rest here for a while. Let us have a song to while away the time.”

So we sang and the time passed so pleasantly and sudden that—it seemed without warning—darkness came upon us. I could see no reason why we should not encamp there; it would give us a restful night and we could go to the plateau at the first light of dawn. The commander was uneasy but he could scarcely disobey my orders.

After a good deal of head-shaking and consideration of the fact that it would not be easy to move in the darkness, it was agreed that we should stay.

The decision proved disastrous.

Louis, some way behind us with the army, was being attacked by the enemy. At first they were harassed by small parties, and then the Turks were descending on them in force. Encumbered by the packhorses, the French fought back furiously, but they were no match for the Turks. Louis told me afterward that his great concern was for me and the ladies, but he believed that we would be on the plateau by that time with the picked troops who, when they looked down, would see what was happening and come down and deliver an effective attack on the enemy.

Desperately he fought his way through to a spot where he could look up to the plateau and to his dismay realized that the troops were not there. Of course they were not. They were in the beautiful valley of Laodicea.

Louis almost lost his life on that occasion and probably owed it to the fact that he looked more like an ordinary soldier than a king, so no one noticed him particularly. He said afterward that God did not intend him to die then. His horse had been killed and he was on foot believing that his last moment had come, not knowing which way to turn to escape the slaughter, when suddenly he saw a high boulder beneath a tree. He believed God had put it there for him. He stood on this and hauled himself up into the tree. The leaves were thick and he was completely hidden. From there he watched the terrible disintegration of his army.

We did not realize immediately that something was wrong. We reached the plateau and waited for the army to catch up with us. Scouts were sent back to find out what had happened and it was only when the poor wounded remnants of our army—Louis among them—came to our camp that we were fully aware of the disaster.

I had never seen Louis so distraught. He was like a different person. He was haggard; there was blood on his clothes; no one would have believed this poor creature was the King of France. His army had been overcome; all the baggage was stolen; we had lost countless horses and, worst of all, many of our men. We hardly had an army now, and as the dreadful truth swept over me I felt we could not long survive. I was filled with remorse, blaming myself. If we had not delayed in the valley, would the outcome have been different? The Turks were a ferocious enemy, determined to avenge their recent defeat but, if the guards had been in a position to go to the rescue of the rest of the army, surely it would not have been such a disastrous defeat.

In spite of my guilt, Louis was overjoyed to see me safe. Despite his lack of desire there was no doubting his affection, and as far as he could love a woman he loved me. It seemed strange to me that I, who appeared to have such a strong sensual appeal to most men, should attract him. I often thought that he would have been happier with a pious woman, one who could have shared in his devotions. I was grateful that he did not blame me, although it would have been quite reasonable for him to have done so.

He said: “It was horrible. All the time I was wondering what had happened to you. I dared not think what might have been your fate if you fell into the hands of those barbarians.”

“I should probably have ended up in a harem,” I said.

“Don’t speak of it. The thought sickens me.”

But this was no time to brood on past disasters; he had to act quickly. Here we were in a hostile land far from our objective. We had lost not only my fine clothes and jewelery, our musical instruments and all that was going to make the journey worthwhile for me, but the litters which at times had been necessary for my ladies and me, essential food and most important of all a large proportion of our army.

We were in a sorry condition.

I cannot recall that time without horror. We thought we were in a bad state but we had no notion of what was to follow. We dared not stay where we were, yet we feared to move. We knew that the country we had to traverse was overrun by Turks. Many of our survivors were wounded. They needed rest, which was impossible; they needed food, which we lacked. What could be done?

Louis took on a certain dignity. Perhaps he was better in adversity than in triumph. He prayed more than ever, which was to be expected; but he did act.

“We must go on,” he said. “We must make for Antioch. The Prince of Antioch will surely help us.”

Antioch! The name had a magic ring for me, for my uncle Raymond was now the Prince of Antioch. I remembered how he had impressed me when he visited my father’s Court long ago. I tingled with pleasure at the memory. He had then seemed to me the most handsome and enchanting man I had ever seen. Of course I had been a child, but I remembered telling him and myself that I should never forget him. Now the prospect of seeing him was like a beacon in a dark night. I believed that if only we could reach Antioch in safety all would be well.

“There,” said Louis, “we should be amongst our own. Raymond is the Queen’s uncle. He could not refuse to help us. Yes, we must make our way as best we can to Antioch.”

There followed one of the most wretched periods of my life. The hazardous journey had begun and when we set out, in spite of all that had happened, not one of us had any notion of what we should have to endure.

The weather was cruel. There was torrential rain which flooded the rivers. Many of our tents were washed away—as were our horses and even some of our men. There was mud everywhere. We were cold and hungry. The men were growing more and more disillusioned, and there was murmuring among them. Surely, if they were in truth following God’s will, He would not allow this to happen to us. There were long terrifying days when we were harassed by Turkish snipers. One never knew when an arrow would come whizzing one’s way. These turbaned barbarians would suddenly dart out on fast ponies, shooting as they rode. One could bear that as long as they kept their distance. The horrifying moments were when they descended on us, their yataghans—swords with a single-edged blade—flashing in their hands, and to know that there was murder in their hearts and that our men were exhausted, angry and disillusioned.