Work Share - A Holy Quest?

It's been a while since I did a work share on here. A lot of my second year work ended up being re-worked for my third year assignments, and my third year assignments are larger projects I want to keep working on. With this in mind, I've decided to share one of my second year assignments.

A Holy Quest? was written for the first assignment in my Writing Place module, with said place being Leicester Castle. Looking to do something historical, I wrote about one of the Norman lords of Leicester, who had fallen out of favour with King William II and decided to join the First Crusade as a means to put some distance between them. While the conclusion was apparently foregone - Ivo abandoned the Crusade during the Siege of Antioch - I opted to speculate about how he would have convinced knights to join him on.

Leicester Castle, December 1095

The wind whistled through the gaps under the chapel doors. Ivo de Grentesmesnil knelt in front of the altar in prayer.
“Am I forsaken, Lord?” he said as he looked up at the cross, “Are you seeking to punish me for acting against the king’s will? Am I to lose my lands? Or my life?”
The Norman Sheriff of Leicester was the sole occupant of the chapel, so nobody replied. He stood up and strode towards the door.
 
Saxon peasants unloaded bundles of timber and sacks of wool from carts and wagons, stepping over the chickens and pigs which wandered the bailey. Ivo donned his cloak as he left the chapel, feeling the sleet spray him. His two household guards stood by the chapel doors, hunched and shivering. Ivo gestured for them to follow. Their posture straightened and they picked up the shields they had been leaning on. The peasants made no eye contact as he passed. Idle chatter fell silent as he strode towards the flying bridge leading up the motte to the keep. Only the sounds of the wandering livestock and the metal hammering of the blacksmiths remained.
One of the troops shoved a peasant carrying firewood to the keep.
“Bloody Normans,” the peasant said under his breath as the bundle spilled onto the bridge and into moat which connected to the Soar.
Ivo grabbed the man by the neck and shoved him against the bridge parapet.
“Hold your tongue, or I’ll have it removed.” He said as he threw the man to the ground.
As the peasant collected the scattered firewood, Ivo continued to make his way up the flying bridge towards the keep. He turned to his guards.
“Aldwyn is scheduled to return today,” he said, “If he arrives, send him up to my chambers.”

*

The smell of wood smoke filled Ivo’s solar back in the keep. The wind whistled through the cracks, but the hearth provided enough warmth. A second goblet and a glass jug of wine sat on a table by the door.
Ivo sat in his chair and sipped from his own goblet as he stared into the flames. A knocking roused him from his thoughts.
“Speak.” He stood up and faced the door.
“Aldwyn has arrived, my lord sheriff.” A voice outside said.
“Enter.”
Ivo’s herald, a small man with a lively and intelligent face, entered the solar and knelt to him. As the door closed, Ivo gestured for him to rise and then embraced him.
“Welcome back, old friend,” he said, “You must be tired and in need of wine. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Aldwyn nodded. He stood by the fire and rubbed his hands, and then draped his damp cloak over one of the chairs. The heat from the fire accentuated his smell of sweat and horse dander.
“What news do you bring from London?” Ivo reclined in his own chair.
“Alas, I bring ill tidings,” Aldwyn said, “The king is displeased with you for your continued private wars. He demands that you bring it to an end.”
“I suspect he bears the same hateful grudge against me as he did with my father,” Ivo said, staring into the contents of his goblet.
“You must consider yourself fortunate that you still hold your lands and titles,” Aldwyn filled his goblet and took a swig.
“My father held lands in Normandy,” Ivo said, “So he sided with Robert. He had to make a choice. It just surprises me that Robert didn’t receive everything. Then again, I cannot fault this, as I wouldn’t have either if that was law. Aldwyn, you’ve been a friend to me for a long time, and I trust you more than any noble in the Royal Court. What would you have me do to escape this lifetime of disgrace?”
“Perhaps you should leave for a time,” Aldwyn said, “Such an opportunity has arisen on the continent.”
“Pray, do tell.” Ivo leaned closer.
“I spoke with a man who had come from a great council in Clermont. He spoke of how his Holiness is calling a Crusade to reclaim Jerusalem, and how any who take up arms to serve such a cause will be offered absolution from their sins.”
“Do you believe that? Taking lives yet escaping from eternal damnation?”
“I do not,” Aldwyn said, “I understand that the Pope is in exile, displaced by a heretic with Imperial backing. I believe he saw an opportunity to unite Christendom against a common foe. Many of the English lords whose lands we have claimed are in the service of the Greeks now. I suspect we’ll be fighting alongside them. With your Dane ancestors and Italian cousins.”
“Never mind that. It’s not something I understand. But will King William be involved?”
“Not that I know of. But Duke Robert is said to be mustering forces for this holy quest.”
Ivo grinned.
 “Then I shall ride under his banners once more. From what you are telling me, if I choose to embark on this Crusade, I will put some distance between myself and the king while also guaranteeing my entry to Heaven?”
“That is what it appears to be, my lord.”
“Then it is settled,” Ivo grabbed the longsword hanging above the mantelpiece, “I cannot incur the king’s wrath if I’m not in his lands, and surely a quest of this kind would help me regain my standing and his favour. Rest tonight. Then tomorrow I want you to set out and summon as many of the local knights as you can. Has Robert departed for this Crusade?”
“Not yet. The departure is set for the Feast of the Assumption on the Ides of August.”
“That makes sense,” Ivo said, “It’s close to harvest, so we won’t go hungry on the journey.”

*

Ivo pulled his cloak tighter as he left the keep. The week had gotten colder. Sleet gave way to snow, which had begun to settle as he made his way down the motte. Few people passed by as he walked through the bailey, save for the patrolling guards. As he arrived at the hall, he heard the sounds of laughter and chatter within. He paused to sample the smells of roasting chicken from the nearby kitchen before pushing open the double doors to the hall.
Knights and their retainers filled the long tables. Their conversations ceased as they saw Ivo enter the hall. He felt their gaze as he strode to his table.
“My friends,” he said, “Thank you for attending my summons. I have called you all to perform your annual service.”
“Is this another one of your feuds, my Lord Sheriff?” A black-haired knight with a scar across his face stood up, “The rebellion ended seven years ago. William is king, not Robert. Continue this path and it could be considered treason!”
Affirmative murmurs snaked through the great hall. A fair-haired knight at the opposite end of the table stood up.
“I agree with Sir Jean,” he said, “As much as our calling is war, these feuds are serving little purpose. If you are mustering us, who are you rallying behind? William or Robert?”
“I am rallying under the banner of Robert,” Ivo said. Benches scraped as half of the knights stood up and walked towards the doors.
“I refuse to face damnation for your petty squabbles!” Sir Jean pointed at Ivo, “You are a curse on our honours and reputations!”
“This is for a higher purpose.” Ivo said. The knights halted. At the same moment, servants entered the hall with laden trays and jugs, “Perhaps you may sample my hospitality before you take your leave, and I can tell you of a great quest.”
More scraping followed as the knights sat back down.
“Many of you are out of favour because you sided with me when my family sided against the king. But Duke Robert is seeking to retake Jerusalem.”
A spluttering echoed as another knight choked on his wine.
“Jerusalem?” Jean folded his harms, “You wish for us to go against the king, and leave our homes in Leicester to travel to the Holy Land? It’s foolish to abandon such a lucrative shire.”
“That may be,” Ivo held out his goblet to an approaching servant, “But a Crusade has been called by the Pope, and he is offering an indulgence to anybody willing to join it.”
The room fell silent. All the guests turned to face Ivo. He saw those at the foot of the tables gaping.
“It is time to put aside our differences and fight for the will of God. Salvation lies ahead, and we can return with fortunes to the good graces of our king! Who is with me?”
A colossal cheer arose through the great hall. Ivo raised his goblet.
“To victory in Jerusalem!” he said. The knights repeated it.
“I will have no part in this fool’s errand,” Sir Jean stood up and strode to the door, “I will face damnation on my own terms. Preferably in Leicester rather than Constantinople.”
A blast of cold air filled the hall as he shoved through the double doors.
“And I will be feasting in Heaven while he enjoys the fires of Hell.” Ivo said, to the laughter of the other knights.
 
As the knights feasted, Ivo sat down.
“I think this will work,” he said to Aldwyn, “We can support Duke Robert and regain the favour the king at the same time. And we can go to Heaven doing what we were born to do.”
“If I may, I’ve never known anybody to offer an indulgence for warfare,” Aldwyn stroked his chin.
“Aldwyn, I’m entrusting you with stewardship of this castle until my sons are of age. Your fine administrative mind has served my family well.”
The herald curtsied.
“I thank you for your generosity, my lord sheriff,” He said, “May your household and castle endure for all time.”