Every day when I awoke after a fitful and uncomfortable sleep, I would ask myself: Shall I live until this day is out? Is this my last?

I said to Louis: “We should have listened to Suger. He was right. We should never have come.”

“It was God’s will,” said Louis.

“So said Bernard. But he was wise enough not to accompany us.”

“He believed it was not his place to do so. He could serve God better where he was.”

“He could certainly serve Him more comfortably. So could we all.”

Louis did not like such comments. After all, Bernard was reckoned to be a saint and very close to God. I did not share his reverence. All I could think of was that we should have listened to Suger.

Gone were my beautiful garments—no doubt adorning some harem woman. All my beautiful jewels ... gone. And here I was, unkempt, with nothing with which to beautify myself. If the Infidel had allowed me to keep my gowns, I felt I could have borne anything else. Now I was getting desperate. I wanted to go home.

What was the use of wishing that? We were a long way from home and from Jerusalem and we had no alternative but to continue with the journey.

The horror of those days lives with me still—a nightmare from which it is impossible to escape. I had never imagined I could be in such surroundings. What were we doing here? I would cry to Louis and myself: Why did we ever embark on this fools’ mission?

Louis could only say that it was God’s will, and if we should die in His service we had the comfort of knowing we should go straight to Heaven. I wished I had his faith.

Meanwhile we had to go on; we had to live through those days of wretchedness and fear. There were occasions when I almost hoped that a Turkish arrow would provide me with a way out of this torment.

There was not enough fodder for the horses; many of them died. We lived on their flesh. I hated the smell of roasting meat when we lighted our campfires. We baked bread in the ashes of those fires—and somehow we managed to survive.

If we could reach Pamphilia, we might find shelter and provisions and perhaps guides to take us to Antioch.

Antioch. I said it over and over again to myself. If only I could see my uncle Raymond, I was sure everything would be well.

So the days passed, never without a fear that the enemy would destroy us. We labored on until, exhausted beyond description, we saw in the distance the walls of Satalia, a little port in Pamphilia.

A shout of joy went up from every throat. Never could any traveler who had been almost without hope have felt such overpowering relief.

We spurred on our tired horses—those of us who had them still—and even the animals seemed to have acquired fresh vitality. The long march was over. We were there.

As we came into the city, we were surprised to see how few people there were. Many of the houses seemed deserted. We made our way to the governor’s palace.

He came out to greet us. He was welcoming but melancholy. He would have been delighted to treat us as we deserved, he said, but there had been so many raids on the town that many of the people had left. He could give us a little food but he was not sure whether it would be enough for our needs. We had come at a difficult time.

He took Louis and me with some of the commanders into the palace, where food was prepared for us. There was not enough shelter for all our soldiers. Some of them went to the deserted houses and stables, fending for themselves as best they could. At least we had roofs over our heads.

The governor was anxious to help—as well as he could. He advised us that our best plan was to get to Antioch as soon as we could.

“That is what we propose to do,” said Louis.

“How far is it?” I asked.

“My lady, it is forty days’ march and the country is infested with Turks. It would be a hazardous journey.”

I cried: “It will be similar to that which we have already suffered. Oh no. I do not think I could endure that.”

“You could go by sea,” said the governor.

“And how long would that take?”

“Three days.”

“Then by sea we must go,” I said.

“What of transport?” asked Thierry Galeran, who was as usual at Louis’s side.

“I will do my best to find boats to carry you there.”

I felt greatly comforted. In three days we should be in Antioch.

But it seemed that God was determined to try us. With the memory of the cries of the burning victims of Vitry in his ears, Louis could endure hardship. I could not. And when I saw the vessels which were to carry us on this journey, I knew that our troubles were by no means over.

In the first place there was not enough transport to carry us all; and those boats that would were only just seaworthy.

There were many conferences as to what must be done.

Clearly some of us would have to undertake the forty days’ march to Antioch. This caused great consternation. Louis was distraught. How could he sail away and leave his men behind? Yet how could he take them with him?

“There is only one thing to do,” he said. “We must take everyone with us.”

“The ships would sink before they were a mile from the shore,” he was told.

“How can I leave my men behind?”

Galeran said: “They will just have to continue with the march. They have come so far. They have endured great hardship but they knew that the crusade was not a pleasure trip. They are expiating their sins. They will have to march.”

“While I sail in one of the ships!” cried Louis. “Never! I shall place myself at the head of them.”

Galeran reasoned with him. He was the King. He was the leader of the expedition. He must not expose himself to unnecessary danger. There was only one thing to do. Sail to Antioch with those who could be accommodated in the ships.

“How can I do this?” wailed Louis. “How can I?”

“It is clearly God’s will,” was the answer. “If He had intended all the men to go He would have provided the ships.”

Louis was at length convinced that this was so, and he and I, with the ladies and principal knights and commanders, boarded one of the ships and set sail for Antioch, after Louis had left all provisions behind for the men who must march.

He was greatly distressed by this and fretted continually as to the fate of those left behind for the long march.

And so we left. We had lost three-quarters of the army.

Three days, we had been told. It was more like three weeks ... three weeks of abject misery. I wondered how I survived them. There were times when I should have been happier to die than go on. No sooner had we left the land than storms beset us. We were driven miles off our course. Antioch seemed farther away than it had when we were on the march. I longed to be back on land, riding along through the mud and slush, beset by the fear of Turkish arrows—anything but this fearsome pitching and tossing, fearing at any moment that this was my last, and hoping that it was.

The winds tore at us, throwing our flimsy vessel hither and thither on that dark and angry sea. There were days and nights of despair when I thought we were never going to reach Antioch. But one morning I awoke to find the ship steady and the sun shining. We had sailed up the River Orontes to the harbor of St. Symeon.

A great joy came to me when I heard the shout, “Antioch! Praise be to God! We are there!”

My joy was soon replaced by horror. I should see my uncle soon and what did I look like? My hair was unkempt, my face pale, my gown tattered and dirty. Oh, this was cruel! To meet him again thus.

He was waiting to greet us—Prince Raymond of Antioch. I thought I had never seen anyone so handsome as my uncle. He was tall and blond, a prince in every way. As we came ashore, his eyes were searching for me. I learned very soon that one of our ships had already arrived so he knew of our misfortunes and was prepared for us.

And there he was standing before me. I felt ashamed. I was so accustomed to men’s eyes lighting up with admiration, and now I had to appear before the most charming of them all in my present state.

He said: “It is Eleanor, my little niece.” He took me in his arms and kissed me. “I should have known you anywhere. You are as beautiful as you promised to be.”

I touched my face and laughed uneasily.

“You have suffered a great deal,” he said, his voice soft and tender, his eyes alight with compassion. “Well, you are here now. You are safe, praise be to God. You are going to rest and all will be well.”

He turned to Louis to greet him, and soon we were on our way to the palace.

When I think of the Court of Antioch now, I think of paradise. In the first place it bore a strong resemblance to the Courts of Aquitaine. Raymond and I were of a kind—products of Aquitaine. He loved luxury and soft living as I did. Yet he was ambitious. He had come far since my childhood when he had visited my father’s Courts as a penniless younger son who was going to England to make his fortune. Well, he had made that fortune. He was the ruler of Antioch, and he had made it like part of Aquitaine.

During those idyllic days which followed I was to discover Antioch. It was here that I began to know myself and to see how I was wasting my life. I was to see that Raymond was all that Louis was not; happily could I have lived the rest of my life in Antioch.

Raymond’s Court was the most civilized I had ever known. It had its origins in the distant past, having been developed by the Romans. It had passed through many hands since then and, it seemed to me, had preserved all that was good from them. Because its climate was so fertile, fruit and flowers grew in abundance; I was not surprised that in the East it was known as “Antioch the Beautiful” and “Crown of the East.”